


take me to church

by KyloTrashForever



Series: Piping Hot Virgini-tea [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bible Kink, Casual Sex, Church Sex, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Loss of Virginity, Non-Linear Narrative, Preacher’s Son Ben Solo, Public Blow Jobs, Sacrilegious sex, Time Skips, Virginity Kink, alternating pov, secret meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22587241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: Sometimes she catches him staring at her from across the pews.It’s subtle, nothing that would draw attention—but Rey always catches it. Probably because she spends a lot of time staring at him too.In which Ben gives Rey a Sunday service of a different kind.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Piping Hot Virgini-tea [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678813
Comments: 1126
Kudos: 1990
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. my lover’s got humor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asongforjonsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongforjonsa/gifts).



> Hello I saw this prompt on Twitter and this weird thing popped up in my head it’s probably not what they wanted but here we are. 😂  
> 
> 
> For Kelly, who is the only person who can wring sacrilegious sex out of me.

Sometimes she catches him staring at her from across the pews. 

It’s subtle, nothing that would draw attention—but Rey always catches it. Probably because she spends a lot of time staring at him too.

She’s known Ben Solo since she was four years old, in the way that people know each other when they grow up in the same town with the same people and attend the same church every Sunday. His father, Han, took the head pastor position fourteen years ago—and Rey remembers a time before she was too young to know any better when she thought the church was _actually_ Ben’s house. She remembers tugging her grandmother Maz’s hand on Sunday mornings and excitedly asking if they were going to Ben’s house today.

He’s charming, in that way that you’d expect of a preacher's son. He says all the right things, he smiles when needed—but it’s not the real him, Rey thinks. She wonders sometimes if anyone even knows the real Ben. If _Ben_ even knows. 

She thinks they used to be friends, like little kids are friends, at least. There is a picture she tries not to think about of the two of them sharing one of those innocent toddler kisses in the church nursery—and there are memories that follow that tells her they _had_ to be friends at some point. 

Even if they aren’t really friends now.

Now Rey can’t really decide what they are. 

Now it’s just the fleeting stares across the pews. It’s the way his hand lingers longer than it should during the handshake and welcome portion of the morning service. It’s the way he watches her when she stands up to sing with the choir. The way his eyes follow her when she leaves the sanctuary. The little nod he gives her when _he_ leaves. 

It’s the only sign he’s ever given her. Ever since that first time—and Rey follows just as easily now as she did then. As she does every single time.

Brother Han is talking about the importance of knowing Jesus, of remembering his sacrifice—and Rey utters a quiet excuse of needing the bathroom under her breath as her grandmother just waves her away. She’s out the swinging doors before the deacons have even left their seats to pass out the little glasses of Welch’s and the little bits of unleavened bread for the Lord’s Supper—pacing down the hall quickly, knowing that they will be through in twenty minutes at best.

Her heels clack against the tile until it bleeds into old carpet as she finds herself in the old part of the church—making her way towards the nursery no one uses anymore on account of the new wing built a few years back. She remembers the wood paneling well, letting her fingers pass over the grooves as she hurries down the last hall to duck into the small room that houses nothing but closed curtains and a forgotten crib filled with broken toys. 

She turns the lock behind her, not bothering to switch on the light—and she feels his hands on her before her eyes even adjust to the filtered darkness. They push her against the counter that houses the row of cabinets above the floor that are long empty, and his mouth covers hers roughly in a way she’s learning that she likes just before he lifts her to sit. Not that she has anything to compare it to.

Ben’s hands curl over her ass through her skirt, pulling her against slacks that are already tented. Kneading the soft flesh of her bottom through the thin material even as he tilts his hips to press his clothed cock against her center.

She lost her virginity here, in this room, in this _way—_ and for the four months since, she finds herself here almost every Sunday service. Even most Wednesdays during mid-week Bible study. Sometimes even during church _functions._

He was gentle with her that first time, and sometimes he still is—but she can tell already this isn’t one of those times. His hands are too heavy and his tongue too hot—and Rey finds she doesn’t mind too much. She has come to like everything he gives her, her body molded and made in the image of his wants. His needs. It’s fortunate they seem to match hers perfectly.

Han’s voice crackles through the old speaker system at the ceiling, and Rey shuts her eyes to tune out his graveled reading of Corinthians, closing her eyes against his: _whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God_ in hopes that it might belay her guilt for what they’re doing. Where they’re doing it. 

“Spread your legs,” Ben murmurs, and when she doesn’t oblige to his liking: “Wider.” His fingers graze the inside of her knee—gliding higher over the soft flesh of her inner thigh to tickle her skin. “Are you wet for me?” His teeth graze against her jaw. “Are you wet just thinking about me fucking you here? When everyone we know is close enough to find us at _any_ time?”

Rey whimpers in response, unable to formulate an answer with the way his fingers press against the damp patch at her underwear. She knows she wore this skirt for him. She knows she thought about him touching her when she put it on. 

“Fuck, you’re _soaked.”_ He hooks a finger into the side of her underwear, tugging them to the side so that he can ease a finger inside her slick hole. “Have you been thinking about this?”

She has. She really has—but she can’t tell him that. She doesn’t want him to know how much she thinks about this, how much she thinks about _him_. About what they are. About what this _means._

She knows Ben’s reputation. She knows she’s probably not even the only one he does this with, so she keeps her thoughts and her wants and her wonderings—locked up tight where he can’t get them. Where he can’t _use_ them. 

She loops her arms around his neck in lieu of an answer. “Hurry,” she murmurs. “We don’t have long.”

“Mm.” His tongue swipes against her lower lip before it dips inside just to retreat. “Greedy thing.”

She’s fumbling with the button of his slacks just as Han’s voice drawls a heavy message on the importance of what they’re about to do, in the taking of the body—and Rey’s fingers shake as she applies the message to the more sordid acts of what _she’s_ doing. Wondering if any part of Ben finds this important. If any part of him finds _her_ important. 

She tugs down his zipper quickly, if only to push her worry from her mind. 

His cock is long and heavy and thick in her hands—and she remembers how much it frightened her, that first time she saw it. Now it only makes her tremble with anticipation. Because she knows what it will feel like, when he presses inside. Knows how she’ll stretch, how he’ll _slide—_ and she wants it. She _always_ wants it. Always wants _him._

Even if this is all she can have. 

Even if this is all he’ll give her. 

She gives him a slow stroke, and then another, squeezing him in the way she knows he likes before she twists her fist at the head until her palm is wet with his precum. He doesn’t take off her underwear, just holds them to the side as he fucks into her fist slowly. He leans in to brush his mouth against hers as she releases, holding himself to steady his cock as the head presses at her entrance. 

Han’s voice is impossible to ignore through the speakers, and Ben echoes his father’s words as he begins to ease inside, uttering a mirrored: “Take, eat.” His lips curl in a way that she knows is anything but holy as he goes on with: “This is my body.”

Then he’s filling her, her knees pressing to his hips as her body opens up for him, her eyes screwing shut as she clings to his shoulders. He doesn’t stop until he’s rooted deep—having no reason to with the way she’s wet for this, wet for _him._ She takes what he gives easily, because her body knows only him. 

His hands fall to her thighs that are bare now with the way her skirt is bunched at her waist—rolling his hips before he draws out slowly, only to slam back inside in a way that makes her body jolt from where she’s sitting at the counter. She cries out in surprise at the force of it, and he brings one large hand to cover her mouth as his lips pass over her throat. 

“Shh,” he murmurs. “You have to be good, or they’ll hear you.”

Rey doesn’t think that’s true, thinks there’s no way anyone could hear her back here—but her heart hammers away all the same at the possibility. Han is praying now, a low murmur through the speakers, and it’s nearly lost to the sounds of their harsh breathing and the wet slap of skin as Ben fucks her. 

“ _Fuck,_ Rey.” He grinds out his words as if they’re difficult, sliding into her in a way that would be rough if she weren’t so _wet._ “I like the way you sound.” He gives her a particularly hard thrust that makes a slick sound. “Like the way it sounds when I fuck you. I like the way you get so _wet.”_

She shivers as his words brush against her skin, holding him tighter, pulling him _closer._ He’s bending her a little with the way he leans into her, keeping her legs spread wide with his big body until they’re nearly burning with effort. She hisses when her ass catches against the ledge of the counter, and Ben stills for a moment just as Han begins to instruct that the deacons pass out the grape juice, or _blood,_ as it were. 

“What is it?”

She presses her hands to his chest, pushing herself back a little. “Damn counter,” she grumbles distractedly.

His mouth finds hers to linger. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” she huffs, fully aware of the way her cunt contracts around where he’s still inside her. “Just saying, there’s a reason people do this in a bed.”

He draws back to look at her, brow furrowed, and for a moment she just stares back, realizing she’s said too much. They don’t talk about things like that. They don’t talk about the possibility of this happening in any way outside of this. 

“You want me to fuck you in a bed?” Her eyes go a little wider, not knowing what to say, feeling her mouth part aimlessly even as no words come. Ben’s jaw works before he leans back in, drawing out his cock just to slide back inside as he licks into her mouth. “The idea has merits,” he murmurs. “Getting you out of this skirt, for once. Seeing those pretty little tits. Tasting them.”

Rey is trembling, and she’s not sure if it’s from the weight of his cock or the weight of his words. 

“What else do you want, Rey?” His fingers grip her thighs so tight she thinks they might bruise. “Want me to take you places? Want me to hold your hand in the hallways? You want that?”

Rey bites her lip as she considers, not knowing if he _actually_ wants to know the answer to those questions. Not knowing if it’ll ruin everything they have now.

Even if she knows deep down they don’t really have anything at all.

It’s just that she does think about those things, she _does._ Because they _were_ friends once, and she doesn’t know what changed that—maybe it’s when his mother died, maybe it’s when Poe Dameron asked her to the Winter Ball, maybe it’s when she started noticing him as something _more_ than a friend even when he didn’t seem to notice her—Rey can’t be sure. 

She’s not sure if it matters. It certainly doesn’t change the fact that:

“Yes,” she whispers so quietly she’s not sure if he’ll even catch it. “I do.”

His brief stillness is the only affirmation that he might have—but then he’s kissing her again, tongue delving deep and cock delving deeper—filling her until she’s bursting with it, until there's _no room left._ She can feel something building, that heavy drag of his cock touching her in all the right places, and Rey closes her eyes as she pushes out the doubts and the worry. As she focuses on just the weight of his tongue and the heat of his cock. 

His breath is stuttered now, and so is hers. She knows they’re almost done in the sanctuary, can hear Han’s: _And when He had taken a cup and given thanks_ just before a quiet prayer—and Rey thinks she might fall apart before they reach _amen._

But she’s distracted by Ben’s kiss, drawn in by the way it seems softer than before, softer than any he’s ever given her—and she wonders if it’s only her mind that fabricates it. If it feels this way because she _wants_ it to—or if it’s just him. 

She holds onto him as she feels that wave beginning to crest, feels that sweet pressure building to the point of bursting as her eyes shut tight with the stars blooming behind them. 

“Drink from it,” Ben says in time with Han through the speakers, leaving Rey to wonder why this particular habit of his makes her that much _needier_ of him. “All of you.” 

Rey is lost, feeling her body begin to shake, a low moan falling from her mouth that is muffled by the return of Ben’s hand there. His hips stutter as he continues to fuck into her, his rhythm put off with the way everything is so much slicker now, so much _messier._

And it’s only made messier when he stills just to pump her full of him, his cock twitching deep to fill her, to blend her wet with his. He’s mouthing at her jaw as he empties inside, grazing higher until his lips brush against hers, her hands gliding over the pressed fabric of his sharp button-down, always wondering what he looks like underneath. 

He’s still inside her when his eyes find hers, and they can hear the music playing through the speakers to signal the last hymn before the dismissal to their classes. Rey’s breath is heavy, chest rising and falling with a weighted rhythm that matches Ben’s—and she wonders what he’s thinking. What’s going through his head as he looks at her like he is.

His fingers find her chin to hold it, gripping it with a little more force than necessary as he pulls her in for a lingering kiss that is unlike anything he’s ever given her before. It’s soft, and yet somehow heavy, and Rey melts into it as she pretends that it’s just one of many. That it means more than it probably does.

His face hovers near hers as he pulls away, his thumb tracing her lower lip as he watches the path it makes. She wonders if he’s thinking about it. About holding hands in hallways and going places they’ve never been. There’s another soft kiss that takes her by surprise, both of them wincing as he pulls out of her.

She knows she’ll feel him between her thighs long after this. 

He’s still looking at her in that strange new way as he buttons up his slacks, running his fingers through his hair until there is no evidence on him that they were even here. As if it didn’t even happen. Sometimes she finds herself wanting to leave a mark on him, if only to leave a reminder that it actually _did_ happen. 

He watches her as she situates her skirt, the last verse of the hymn drifting over their heads, playing in tune to the finality of their time here. He doesn’t promise her anything, and she doesn’t ask him to.

But he pulls her close when she hops down from the counter, taking her by surprise as she goes flush against him, leaning in until his lips are barely-there at her temple. 

“See you at Sunday School,” he says quietly. 

Rey watches him go after, picking apart every second and wondering what it means. Knowing she’ll do the same thing every day that follows until they find themselves here again. 

And Rey knows by now that they will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Idk if you are familiar with “the Lord’s Supper” but as a Baptist we do this once a month as a remembrance of the Passover. Basically eating a piece of unleavened bread and drinking a small glass of grape juice while the pastor reads from Corinthians.)
> 
> Also also this was a one shot when I posted it then I sat and ruminated on it for too long and decided I couldn’t do that so. Le sigh.


	2. should've worshiped her sooner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has about as much plot as it does morality I’m sorry  
> (Also, in case it isn’t apparent—this is their second time ah, coming together in this nonlinear timeline.)

Ben doesn’t mean to stare at her, it’s just that he can’t figure her out. 

He hasn’t forgotten what she feels like—all warm and wet around his cock. Hasn’t forgotten her little sounds against his ear or the warmth of her breath as she panted against his skin. 

It’s been _all_ he’s thought about, actually. It’s ruled his every waking moment for the last week. 

But it doesn’t change the fact that he _cannot figure her out._

Kissing her had been a mistake, one he fully owns up to—but everything after, the way she’d sought more, the way her little fingers had pushed under his shirt to brand his skin. Fuck, the way she _came—_ because she did. Come. _He’d_ done that. He’ll never forget the way she’d whispered to him, the way her soft voice had gone breathy and timid as she’d told him he was her first. 

Something that both thrills and terrifies him. 

Ben knows what he is, knows exactly what girls want from him—he just never imagined that she would be one of them. 

He thinks maybe they were friends once, or something like it, at the very least. Maybe it was only a proximity thing. The curse of all church-going kids dragged to service by their devout parents. Perhaps they were never friends at all, and Ben simply likes to kid himself. Who can say. 

Not that it matters.

Ben doesn’t have any friends now. 

He taps his foot as his father launches into his favorite scare tactic of the wrath of God and the fires of hell—all of it nearly boring him to tears at this point. He hears enough of it at home; it seems almost cruel that he has to suffer through it in public as well. He can’t explain the strange itch beneath his skin—an unsettling undercurrent of _something_ that leaves him restless. Something that’s lingered inside him ever since he was inside _her._

She catches his eye across the pews—and he watches as hers widen a fraction, as her pink little mouth parts in surprise to catch him staring, as she holds his gaze for a moment longer than she probably should. He doesn’t know what comes over him, what prompts him to nod his head towards the double doors in silent question, one that he thinks she fully understands, even if she probably shouldn’t. 

He’s alone in the back row, and he knows all the other heads are pointed towards the front where they should be. All except hers. Her bright eyes are turned back to look at him, and he can see it there. That same unsettled feeling that plagues him. Her eyes flick to the doors where he’s gestured, and he rises from his pew quickly, before he can change his mind, pressing towards the back of the sanctuary to push through the doors without looking. Too afraid that he will see her turned back towards the front. Back where she _should_ be focused. 

Not on him. Never on him.

His dress shoes clod against the tile as he steps through the main hallway—but his eyes are trained ahead, heart pounding in his ears as he wonders if she’ll follow, knowing that she shouldn’t. Some part of him even hoping that she _doesn’t—_ even as a much larger, a much more _selfish_ part of him prays that she does. 

It’s funny, he thinks. It might be the first time he’s prayed in years. 

His steps are softer on the old carpet that leads into the forgotten wing of the church, his fingertips light against the grooved wood paneling that stretches down the hall towards the rear exit—but he’s headed somewhere else. He ducks into the old nursery instead, breath trapped in his lungs, eyes darting around the forgotten room as he is assaulted with the memory of only a short week ago—of her sounds and her warmth and her touch that shouldn’t belong to him. 

The seconds tick by like hours, and Ben focuses on the way the light peeks in through the faded curtains at the window. The way the sunlight dances along the worn carpet. The way the dust kicks up to linger in the air. His father’s voice drones through the dated speaker system mounted in the ceiling—but Ben does his best to tune it out, just as he does in all things relating to his father. 

Her knock is light against the door, and Ben’s lips curl in triumph before he turns the handle to let her inside. She steps through the crack he makes quickly, her long skirt swishing behind her before he shuts the door to lock it behind her. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do if she actually came, and now that she’s here he isn’t sure how to proceed. She leans against the door with those same wide eyes—looking like she hasn’t given thought beyond this moment either. Like she has no idea what she’s doing here. 

He should say something to her. He knows that. He should ask her what it meant, why she’s _here—_ all sorts of potential things he should or could be saying to her. 

None of those things are what come out of his mouth. 

“Are you sore?”

Her eyes widen further, looking stunned. “What?”

He can’t help it. He’s been thinking about it for a week. “Sore.” His eyes flick lower, lingering on her skirt that dips a little between her thighs. He knows what she feels like there. Knows how wet she gets around his fingers and his cock. He knows that no one else does. He dips his chin in gesture. “There.”

Her breath catches, her little fingers catching in the soft fabric of her skirt to grip it lightly. She gives a slow shake of her head. “Not anymore,” she whispers.

_Not anymore._

So she was. At least for a little bit. The thought simultaneously makes him angry and pleased. Ben licks at his lower lip distractedly. “Did you tell anyone?”

“No,” she whispers. “Did you?”

He could almost laugh. Who does he have to tell? He shakes his head instead. “I didn’t.”

“Why did you—” She draws in a heavy breath. “Why did you call me back here?”

His eyes are on hers now, wondering if his appear as wild as hers. Wonders if her heart hammers like his does. “Why did you come?”

“I…” Her mouth closes as quickly as it opens, looking lost. “I just—”

Ben takes a step, closing the distance even as she tries to compress herself further against the door. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, he _definitely_ knows that he shouldn’t, that he should tell her to leave—but he doesn’t, he _can’t._ She’s such a precious thing, like porcelain, high on a shelf and not meant to be touched. Certainly not meant to be touched by him, not meant to be _tainted_. 

It only makes him want to touch her more.

His fingers reach to graze just beneath her chin, tilting up her face until she’s staring up and up into his eyes—shaking a little, but whether with fear or anticipation he can’t be sure. He’s close enough to steal her breath, if he wanted, can feel its warmth against his own mouth. He brushes his lips over hers in a testing way, wondering if this is all his too. Content to pretend for a moment that no one has taken this from her either. That it’s all for _him._

She opens like she’s thought about it, like she’s _wanted_ to—letting his tongue invade until it fills her mouth to sweep through it. Until it conquers to _taste._ His other hand braces against the door, letting the one beneath her chin tuck beneath her arm to wrap around her ribs before sliding lower, curving around her hip to pull her against him.

And how _good_ she feels. 

Better than anything, better than _anyone—_ tantalizing in that way that means that she is surely, that _this_ is surely sinful. Nothing that feels so good could be anything but. But Ben just keeps taking, and Rey just keeps giving, and isn’t that exactly what immorality is? A steady give and take of the forbidden? 

He lifts her easily, just as easily as she comes to him—pulling her up and into his arms before carrying her to the old counter to sit her on top of it. She’s still letting him kiss her as greedily as he wants to, and he wonders how he might have missed the untouchable Rey Johnson harboring desires such as this inside her. Wonders how it is that he could have pegged her for an innocent. 

Perhaps she still is, he thinks. Perhaps he is just that tainted, that even someone as sweet as her might be affected when she gets too close. Ben thinks he’ll take what he can get. 

Her fingers find his hair to tangle, pulling him closer as he settles between her legs to grab at her hips. Her blouse flutters above until his fingers meet warm skin beneath, and he can’t help but dwell on what she might look like outside of this dusty old room. What she might look like out of these clothes. How she might feel in nothing but her skin and his sheets.

It’s a dangerous thought, one he has no business thinking. He knows she won’t ever want anything outside of this. 

No one ever does. 

But it doesn’t stop him from pushing her, doesn’t stop him from taking _more._

His fingers drift to grip the hem of her skirt, lifting it to let it inch up her legs and over her thighs as his father starts to speak on the glory of God’s creation. He lifts the fabric higher, and she allows it, she _lets_ him—mouth going slack against his and breath heaving harder because he can look down now and see nothing but bare thighs and white lace and she _is_ glorious, he thinks. She might be the most perfect thing God has ever made. 

Her hands find his shoulders to cling as he presses his fingers against the damp fabric between her legs, hearing her sharp inhale and her shaky exhale as he applies a heavy pressure. 

“You said you weren’t sore,” he murmurs.

“I’m not,” she hisses. “It’s just—”

“It feels good.” He wets his lower lip, feeling a thrumming under his skin. “You like it when I touch you here.”

She doesn’t answer, and he wonders for a moment if he’s pushed her too far—but then he feels her nod against the side of his face. Hears the breathy little sound she makes when he presses through the fabric against the slick little hole that lies lower. He can’t say why, knows that it’s _deplorable,_ but Ben can’t help but want to keep pushing, keep _taking—_ wanting to see how far she will let him go. How much of her he can stain with himself. 

His fingers find the edge of her underwear to curve there, inching them down slowly as he waits with bated breath to see if she’ll stop this. If she’ll push him away like she should. But her breath just continues to puff against his cheek, and her fingers just grip him a little tighter, and then her underwear are loose between her legs before they fall to the floor, and his fingers skirt higher until there is nothing but how _warm_ and _wet_ she is. 

He lets the tip of his index finger trace her entrance, turning up his face to catch the way her eyes are hooded now. “Does this hurt?”

She shakes her head aimlessly. “No.”

“And this?” He eases his finger inside as she pulls the plump flesh of her lower lip between her teeth. “Does this hurt?” Her _no_ is whispered this time, the shake of her head less steady, and he knows there is still a tightness she isn’t used to. One that he would more than enjoy fucking her through—but he thinks he has a little more in mind. His lips brush against her jaw, his voice low and rumbled as he tells her: “Spread your legs.”

Her thighs part wider, spreading without hesitation, without question, and _oh,_ what it does to him. Her eagerness. Her _want_ of whatever he can do for her. He has to remind himself that this is all she’s here for. What he can do for her. He thinks it might be worth it, being used by her. 

Her surprise is apparent in her wide eyes and her soft cry when he drops to his knees between her legs, using his palms to hold her thighs apart as he tries not to lose his goddamn mind with the sight of her pink little cunt so open and wet for him. Her hands find purchase at the edge of the counter, watching him with flushed cheeks as her mouth hangs open slightly. 

“Ben, what are you—”

He doesn’t allow her the chance to second guess. He leans in to run his tongue through her folds, drawing a low moan from her that she staunches quickly with a clapped hand over her mouth. Her fingers find his hair to push him away, even as his tongue licks at her tight little hole to make her whimper.

“That’s—no. You’re not supposed to—”

Ben pulls away to look up at her, feeling the wet shine of her at his mouth as he licks it away with a swipe of his tongue. She’s so fucking _sweet._

“You don’t like it?”

Rey looks a little lost. “No. That is—I don’t—”

“You’re embarrassed.”

Something inside him is absolutely _thrilled_ with the realization, and he knows he deserves all the punishment his father continues to preach about over the speakers. Knows he is as wicked as any sinner to walk through the church doors—because he _enjoys_ her flushed cheeks and her shamed expression. Enjoys the way she thinks she shouldn’t want this even though he can tell she _absolutely_ does.

“You don’t have to be,” he tells her quietly. “I’m not going to tell anyone.” He thinks this is most likely what she’s worried about; he knows that she surely doesn’t want anyone to know that she would let _him_ do this to her. Her grip on his hair slackens a little, and her chest heaves as she watches him lean back in. He keeps his eyes trained upwards, holding her gaze as he kisses lightly at her wet slit. “I won’t tell anyone how wet you get,” he tells her softly, flicking his tongue between her folds as she bites at her lower lip. “Won’t tell anyone what you feel like.” He lets his tongue flatten to drag up the length of her, lingering at the swollen little bud at the apex as she gasps with it. He closes his lips over it for only a moment to suck it into his mouth, feeling her thighs tense around his ears, hearing her toes pop with the way they curl. He releases her with a slick sound, breathing heavily as he turns down his eyes to stare at the slick heat of her spread open before him, dizzy with the taste of her on his tongue. He swallows thickly, hearing his blood rush in his ears. “I’m not going to tell a _single soul_ what it tastes like when you come all over my mouth.”

Her hand does little more than rest against the crown of his head now, and he takes it as permission, closing his lips back around her little clit as his teeth graze it just before he gives it a long pull. Rey whimpers above him, and he knows she’s watching as he turns his head back and forth to lick at it heavily. Can _feel_ her eyes on him as he sucks her roughly. 

She tilts her pelvis deeper into his mouth as he dips his head to press his tongue at her entrance, letting the soft sounds of her pleasure fill his ears when he tries to force it inside her. He replaces the wet heat of his tongue with a finger as he licks back up the length of her, easing it inside to fill her as he hums around the taut little bud that pulses against him. 

He abandons pretense as his father launches into the closing bit of his sermon—as he calls for the congregation to look inside themselves, to evaluate their hearts and their minds and seek the warmth of the Lord’s embrace—but Ben is far beyond that, wanting nothing but the warmth of this girl’s hot little cunt as she presses it deeper into his mouth. 

He peeks up through hooded eyes to watch her head fall back and her mouth part, and he can see her lips forming the shape of his name even as no sound comes out. Her thighs try to press tighter around his head as he curls a finger deep inside, and he can feel it—how close she is. Can feel it in the way she trembles inside, taste it in the way she gets _wetter._

He isn’t sure who is more surprised, when she comes with a gush that wets his lips and his tongue and his chin—and she tries to scramble away in embarrassment with a choked sound even as he holds her close to lap away every bit that he can, as he collects it with his tongue to make her mewl with the trembling aftermath of an orgasm that _he_ gave her. 

He’s breathless after, looking up at her from between her legs as he gives one last long lap up her slit, _watching_ her watch him with those wide eyes of hers. He wants to fuck her again, wants to bury his cock inside her until she’s screaming his name and God’s and everything else—but he knows he needs to let her go now. Knows that soon service will be over, and she’ll be missed. That unlike him—people will care where she is.

So he pushes to his feet instead, drawing his finger from inside her to bring it up between them where his mouth hovers so close to hers, painting her lower lip with her fluids before kissing it away with a heavy swipe of his tongue that lingers before slipping past her lips. 

She’s too good, and he knows that. He knows that she’s too good for him. Knows that just like every other girl he’s been with—she’s only here for this. Only here for what he can do for her with his mouth and his hands and his cock. 

Knows he has nothing to offer her outside of this.

Knows that he will take whatever he can anyway.

She blinks up at him dazedly when he pulls away, watching as he finds her underwear to slowly pull them back up her legs and over her hips. His fingers linger there as his father’s voice warbles on, his words heavy in the small room that smells of dust and sex and _them_.

“ _Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”_

Ben lets the words resonate inside him, as he quietly urges her to go back without him, knowing that this is exactly what she is to him. A temptation. 

Knowing also that he is definitely too weak to resist her.

He watches her go with one last dazed look over her shoulder, and he wonders then what it is she’s thinking. Wonders how soon it will be before she lets him touch her again. Knowing that it’s all he’s good for. 

_Too weak to resist her._

Ben could almost laugh at that. 

As if he even wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We've a lot of starving faithful  
>  That looks tasty  
> That looks plenty  
> This is hungry work_
> 
> Can’t tell me Hozier didn’t mean _that_ when he said _hungry work_ I mean...


	3. offer me that deathless death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2020 is the year KTF does away with her fluff and embraces angst I guess 
> 
> (This chapter takes place on the Friday after chapter one, five days later.)

“In here.”

She sees an outstretched hand from the door that is only slightly ajar, and she takes it without thought as she ducks inside. “Thanks.”

It smells like moth balls and floor cleaner in the utility closet, and even at ten-years-old, Ben is almost too big to fit in the small space by _himself_ —let alone with Rey crammed inside with him and the vacuum and God knows what else, but they make it work. 

He nudges to the side to allow her more space, knocking a broom against the wall as he does so. “Did anyone see you?”

“No.” Rey shakes her head. “We’re good.”

“Poe is awful at hide and seek, anyway,” Ben huffs quietly. “If we be quiet, he’ll never find us.”

“Okay,” Rey answers softly, looking around in the dark and trying to make out what she can with the tiny sliver of light bleeding in from the crack under the door. “Have you been in here the whole time?”

She thinks Ben shrugs, but she can’t be sure. “It’s a good spot. No one ever comes in here but the cleaning lady on Saturdays.”

“It smells weird.”

“Just ignore it,” he says. “And be quiet.”

Rey tries, she really does, but she’s never been very good at keeping quiet. Not like Ben is. Maybe that’s why he always wins hide and seek. She tries her best for a whisper, at least. “Are you okay? You know… after this morning.”

He keeps quiet, like he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but they both know that he does. “I’m fine.”

“I heard him yelling at you,” she murmurs. “In the fellowship hall.”

“It’s nothing. He’s always yelling about something.”

“Why was he so mad?”

Ben seems to mull over her question, and she hears his shoe scuffle across the old carpet beneath them to stir up more of that ancient smell that only comes from aged fiber. “I don’t know,” Ben whispers. “He’s always mad at me.”

“What for?”

“Because I don’t do anything right.”

“That’s not true,” Rey counters. “You won the spelling bee last week.”

Ben laughs under his breath. “My mom took me to get ice cream.”

“And your dad?”

Ben is quiet once more, the silence spanning several seconds while something churns in Rey’s belly, something she doesn’t understand that makes her want to hug him or something. “He didn’t come,” he says finally.

“I’m sorry,” she tries. “Maybe he just—”

Ben moves before she can finish, his hand rising to cover her mouth. It’s much larger than hers, covering the entire lower half of her face, and she feels her heart race with surprise as he cups it there, waiting. She can see more of his silhouette now as he leans in close to the door, listening.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispers.

“Do you think it’s—”

Ben’s hand presses tighter against her mouth, and she can hear them now, footsteps in the hall. She feels the coursing fear that comes with being caught, feels it rushing under her skin to pour into her feet as Ben’s hand remains warm and heavy against her mouth. He must feel her opening her mouth to attempt to speak again, because she can see the sharp shake of his head, his voice a harsh whisper that rushes past his teeth.

“Be—”

* * *

“— _quiet._ ”

His hand is larger now, in the eight years since that day, but it still covers her mouth just as easily, pressing tight to stanch any sounds that might escape her. The closet still smells the same—some mixture of mothballs and floor cleaner and aged carpet, but it’s harder to focus on it now. Their visit here is so much _different_ than it was then, except it’s the same, really. Hiding away. Hoping not to be caught.

It seems altogether wicked somehow, that she would recall such an innocent memory at a time like this, considering her current _state._

Her skirt is bunched high at her spine, her underwear in Ben’s pocket as he presses against her back, his cock sliding between her legs as he wets himself in the fluids that threaten to drip down her legs. 

He isn’t inside her, not yet, but he _might as well be_ , for as worked up as Rey feels. He’s made her come on his fingers once already—and she wonders how long they’ve been in here. If anyone will notice that they’re both missing from the carnival. Ben had said it’s unlikely, with as many kids are over in the church gym right now, but she can’t help that lingering fear that is always with her when they’re together like this. That terror that someone will _catch them_ and know exactly how _filthy_ she is.

They’re both still with bated breath as they wait for the footsteps to fade, listening to them plod on down the hall to dissipate completely after several moments. Ben’s stiff form goes a little more lax behind her, and she can feel his nose grazing her throat as he tilts his hips to push his cock between her folds, letting her envelop him. 

“Were you scared, Rey?” He flicks his tongue against her throat as his hand drifts from her mouth to grab for her thighs, pressing them together so that his cock lies nestled between the lips of her cunt, hot and rigid and wet from her arousal as she begins to squirm. “Were you scared that they’d catch us?”

“ _Ben._ Just hurry up and—”

“Hurry up and what?” Her squirming only makes him that much more trapped between her legs, the head of him _just_ nudging at her clit as a little whimper escapes her. “Hurry up and fuck you? Is that what you want?”

She shudders, feeling both warm and cold as his words make her that much more needy for him, that much more _ashamed._ “Ben…”

“Tell me you want me to,” he grates into her ear, flexing his hips so that his cock slides against her clit in a lazy thrust. “Tell me you want me to fuck you. _Say it.”_

Her lips press together in defiance, not able to bring herself to that level of admission. Not able to delve that much deeper into this hell they’re both walking into. His hand slides under her blouse, creeping over her belly to climb higher, cupping her breast through the thin lace of her bralette and twisting her nipple until she lets out a soft cry. Five days ago she’d told him that she wanted him to have her in a bed, and she thinks there has to be some part of him that knows what that means—there _has_ to be—and yet here they are as they always have been. Tucked away in some dark corner where no one can see their sins.

His teeth graze her ear to nibble, soothing it after with his tongue just as his fingers tug down the lace of her bralette to let his warm palms cover her breast. “That’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m going to anyway. I know you want me too. You don’t have to say it.”

She can only nod slowly, dizzy from the way he’s touching her. He draws back his hips as his cock drags against every inch of her wet slit, pulling and _pulling_ until she can feel him nudging at her entrance. Her back arches as her mouth parts in a silent cry, and she feels his lips at her throat as he slowly, _slowly_ begins to push inside her. There’s a warm, wet stretch that she’s become accustomed to, and yet somehow she thinks she will _never_ get used to it. The way he fills her. The way he fills every part of her, and not just like this. 

He pulls her close until their bodies are molded together, the back of her head resting against his shoulder as he pushes and _pushes_ until he’s as deep as he can be, until she’s _full._ “ _Fuck,_ Rey,” he grates into her skin. “You’re so goddamn _hot_ inside.” He feels her wince at the word, and she swear she can feel his lips curl at her throat. “That bothers you. Doesn’t it.” She says nothing, and Ben draws out in a slow drag as every inch of his cock touches her as it goes. “ _Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain,_ ” he huffs. “How _wicked.”_

Her lashes flutter as he pushes back inside, her breath growing shallow as her heart beats a heavy tattoo against her ribs. “Ben, don’t—”

“You think it’s worse than this?” He gives her a particularly rough thrust that jolts her against the door of the closet, her hands slapping against the wood to steady her. “What about _this?”_

It’s too much, it’s _far_ too much—but Rey can’t bring herself to speak out against him. Can’t really bring herself to speak _at all._ Not with the way he’s sliding into her at a steady pace now. Not with the sounds of wet flesh slapping against each other in the small space. 

“Do you think we’re breaking the rules here?” He lowers to suck at the base of her throat, and she bites at her lower lip to keep from crying out. “ _Remember the Sabbath._ ” His breath is hot against her skin, his cock slowing to a lazy pace that keeps her suspended on the edge. “It’s not Sunday,” he murmurs. “But that’s never stopped us before.” His hand is trailing down her belly now, his fingers tucking under the band of her skirt to tease her clit. “ _Thou shalt not commit adultery._ ” He gives a choked laugh. “Neither of us are married here,” he tells her. There is a moment where he’s still, only a moment, and then he pushes back inside her at that same slow pace that is starting to drive her crazy. “As if anyone would marry me,” he mutters under his breath. 

“Ben,” she gasps. “ _Ben._ I—”

 _“Thou shalt not covet._ ” His finger rolls against her clit to make her shudder. “Now that’s something I’ve done. Isn’t coveting just wanting something that isn’t yours?” He applies pressure against the swollen nub just as he strokes into her a little harder. “I’ve coveted a _lot,_ lately.”

Her chest feels tight, and she can’t even explain why she almost wants to cry right now. Why she thinks if it weren’t for the warmth of him at her back, weren’t for the heat of him inside her—she might do just that. Is this really all there will ever be for them? Is this what she really _wants?_

But she can’t think straight like this, can’t ponder what will or won’t come after—because right now there is _only_ this. Right now there is only _him_ and whatever he will give her. 

“Sometimes I think about after,” he rasps, fucking her a little harder. “About you walking around with my cum in you. Sitting in that pew with me dripping out of your pretty little cunt. Sometimes I want them to see.” His breathing is growing erratic, his fingers picking up their pace at her clit as that steady pressure begins to build inside. “Sometimes I want _everyone_ to see the side of you only I get to. I want them to know _exactly_ what I do to you.”

“Ben,” she huffs, trying to catch her breath as he fills her and _fills_ her. “ _Ben._ ”

“They think you’re so sweet, so _good,_ ” he grinds out. “But you’re just like me. Aren’t you. You’re _just like me._ ”

Her head falls back again as she begins to shake, her cunt fluttering around him as he continues to push inside her as her orgasm takes hold. It washes over her like a wave, drowning her in a rush of sensation and warmth and _Ben—_ and she can feel it now, the way he can’t keep a steady rhythm. Can feel the warmth of his breath at her throat as he begins to fuck her roughly to seek his own pleasure. 

Her cunt feels slick and sore and _used_ with the way he drives into her—but it’s good, it’s _so good—_ just as it always is. It is never this part that is a problem. This part she loves, this part she _craves._

It’s always the after.

She feels the moment he follows after her, feels it in the pulsing of his cock and in the rush of his breath. He twitches deep inside as wet warmth coats her there, and she knows that she _will_ feel him there long after. That she always does, just as he wants her to. Ben is still behind her, struggling to catch his breath as he continues to leak inside, lingering even as he begins to soften, pulling her by the hips if only to help keep him inside for as long as he’s able. 

His forehead falls against her shoulder, and even now when it’s harder to keep him inside, she finds she also doesn’t want him to leave. Knows that when he does, the _after_ will set in and make her wonder what they’re doing. Make her wonder why they _still are._

But eventually he slides away, his cock falling heavily from inside her cunt with a wet sound as she feels his cum trickle out of her, and she presses her thighs together to stanch the flow, wetting them in the process. He rights her skirt as it should be with a slow caress, and then he stoops down to the ground to help her step back into her underwear, pulling them up her legs and over her thighs until there is almost no trace of this, no trace of _them._

Then the doubt finds its way back in, just as it always does. 

Is this what Rey really wants? Does she want to feel like this all the time? Always wanting, always waiting, waiting for something that might not ever come.

Doesn’t he realize that she wants more than this? Hadn’t she told him as much? Is this _really_ all he will ever want from her?

She can’t see him in the dark, not really, but she can feel him, when he spins her to let his lips cover hers. When he presses her into the closet door to let his hands slide over her hips to pull her close. She closes her eyes to melt into it, to _pretend—_ something that had been enough for her, she thinks. Until now. 

Because this isn’t what she wants. She thinks that’s all too obvious now. 

She wants the hand holding and the kisses in the light and the soft words in a bed. She wants the people to see the side of Ben that only _she_ gets to see. The one she thinks he isn't even aware of. She wants people to see what _she_ does to _him._

Even if she thinks he never will.

His kiss is lingering, and she lets it happen, allowing its warmth to seep inside her, allowing its softness to make her believe in something more. His lips hover over hers after, and in this small span of moments things are good, things are _perfect,_ they’re—

“I think I prefer the nursery,” he laughs quietly. “It’s too dark in here.”

Everything warm inside her turns cold all at once. 

For a moment she doesn’t say anything, just stares back in the darkness with slightly parted mouth, trying to put words to the way she feels. She takes a step back finally, putting distance between them, and Ben doesn’t chase after her, probably thinking she only means to head back to the carnival, that nothing is amiss. 

“I should probably go back first,” he tells her. “You can say you got sick or something.”

Rey feels her lower lip tremble. “I can’t do this.”

“What? Yes you can. Just make something up. It’s always worked before.”

She shakes her head. “No. I can’t do _this._ ” She knows he can’t see her gesturing between them, but she thinks maybe he can feel it, that he can _hear_ it in the desolation of her tone. “This thing we’re doing. I can’t do it. Not anymore.”

Ben is silent for a long span of seconds, his silhouette deathly still. “Is there someone else?”

“No,” she answers, a bitter, soft laugh escaping her. “There isn’t.”

“Then what’s the prob—”

“The problem is I don’t _want_ to fuck you in nurseries and closets and God knows where else.” Her voice is rising a little, and she knows that’s dangerous, but she can’t help it. “I don’t want to keep sneaking around with you only to feel terrible about it afterwards. I _never_ wanted that with you. I just—I just—” Her eyes are wet now, and she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks, but she can’t help that either. “I just wanted you to like me,” she says defeatedly, her very _bones_ feeling tired. “I just thought maybe eventually you’d want _me._ Just me.”

He is still so quiet, so _unmoving,_ and she thinks maybe that is her answer. That maybe the answer was always right there in front of her, she was just too blind to see it. Too blinded with the fantasy that this would ever be more than it was. That _she_ would ever be more to him.

Her hand fumbles to grip the doorknob behind her, turning it before she starts to cry in earnest and embarrass herself. The door falls open as light floods in, and for a moment she’s surprised by the expression etched onto Ben’s face. There’s something like surprise, something like _realization—_ all of it colored with a hint of something painful that mirrors what she feels. His lips are parted and his brow is furrowed and his eyes, his _eyes—_ his eyes look as wrecked as she feels. 

Her vision clouds with a fresh wave of tears, threatening to spill over, and Rey steps out of the closet before they have a chance, even when Ben’s shocked expression makes her want to rush back inside and beg him to tell her what he’s thinking, to tell her how he feels. 

But she only affords herself one last look before she backs into the hall, the doorknob resting in her hand and her heart resting in his. Even if he doesn’t realize. Even if he doesn’t want it. Her eyes sweep over his face, over his wounded expression, swallowing down her emotions and her doubts and _all of it_ as she does the one thing that should be so easy, and yet feels like the hardest thing she’s ever done.

Rey shuts the door, closing Ben behind it, and then she turns down the hall to escape without ever looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this totally has a happy ending I swear lol


	4. my lover's the sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so damned sad. 
> 
> This chapter takes place three months after their first time, and one month before they "break up" of sorts.   
>   
> This amazing gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

It was a mistake, Ben thinks. Coming here. 

The drive up had done nothing but make him edgy—something he’d anticipated since the moment Poe had signed up. 

He watched them in the van for the entire three hours to the retreat site, and he’s watched them through the meet and greet, and the services—and everything else they’ve sat through since arriving. 

It’s something they’ve done every year, this youth retreat for teens, and with his father being one of the regular speakers—Ben has had little choice but to attend. The years before this he’s been content to tuck himself away in some secluded corner of the camp; it’s not like anyone would ever come looking for him, but this year is different. 

It’s different because _she’s_ here.

It’s different because three months ago, he was _inside_ her for the first time. 

It’s different because she’s still letting him fuck her, for reasons he still can’t seem to puzzle out. 

It’s different because now he can’t stop watching _every fucking move she makes._

It’s not a conscious thing, he thinks, the way his eyes follow her. The way his head turns to seek her out. It’s a product of remembering what she feels like when she comes around him, of knowing the sounds she makes when he slides inside her, of being able to recall the way she _looks_ at him after—the way he can almost pretend that what they’re doing means something else. 

But Poe is a visceral reminder. 

They aren’t dating anymore, he knows that, and more importantly—it wouldn’t be any of Ben’s business even if they were. That’s not what this is, not what _they_ are.

So why does it bother him so much to watch them together?

She still laughs at his jokes, and he still pulls out her chair, and Ben has to remind himself over and _over_ that _Poe_ doesn’t know what she looks like when she comes. That he doesn’t know her expressions or her sounds or how fucking _wet_ she gets when he moves inside her, how her cunt gets tight, _so tight._ Poe doesn’t know any of that, because she never let him fuck her. Only _Ben._

 _But she let Poe date her,_ his brain reminds him viciously. _She wanted that with him._

It’s enough to make him want to get away. 

He doesn’t think anyone will miss him, when he slips from his group—deciding he’s had enough of contemporary hymns at the campfire and _more_ than enough of swapping stories with people he only sees once a year. He knows where he’s going, has been there more than enough times to let his feet carry him without thought—but his steps feel heavier now, when he clods off in search of his little spot near the treeline. He keeps out of sight as he ducks behind the main building, avoiding the glow of the lamp posts that have just come on in the hazy in between of light and dark that falls with dusk. 

He passes the cabins and the volleyball courts and everything else—traipsing through the old section of the retreat until he can squeeze past the rusted gate of the old tennis court no one uses anymore because of the broken netting posts. It’s used now to house broken beds, unneeded chairs… More of a catch-all of discarded things than anything. 

Maybe that’s why Ben feels more at ease here.

He sinks down onto one of the old benches in the corner of the fenced-in court, digging in his pocket for the little paper box that he has to keep hidden at all times. It takes him a few seconds more than it normally would to fish one out, but after a few moments the little paper filter is between his lips, a faint glow at the lit end that burns brighter as he inhales deep. He knows his father would kick his ass if he knew Ben has been bumming cigarettes from Snap Wexley since before Snap graduated—and maybe that’s why he still does it. Maybe the smoke in his lungs makes him feel as if there is at least _purpose_ behind Han’s ever present disappointment. 

Maybe he just wants to feel something.

He can’t really say at this point. 

He closes his eyes as he gives another puff at the end, only opening them at the creaking sound of metal that makes him sit straighter, pulling the cigarette from his mouth to hold it low at his side as he squints his eyes to make out the dark shadow of someone easing past the gate. 

He blows out the smoke as surreptitiously as he can, assuming he’s about to be caught and forced to endure a tongue-lashing from his father. 

But he’s wrong, it seems, and he can’t decide what to make of it. 

“It’s me,” she whispers.

His brow furrows, only just able to make out the shape of her as she steps closer. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you slip away.”

“How did you know where I was going?”

“You always go here,” she says matter-of-factly. 

He isn’t sure what surprises him more—the fact that she followed him or the fact that she has been consciously _aware_ of where he skulks off to—but all of it pales in comparison to the whirring of his mind as it tries to process that she is in fact, _here._

“I thought you’d be with Poe,” he says, trying and mostly failing to keep the bitterness from his tone. 

“I’m not dating Poe anymore,” she says with that same even tone that seems to say he should already know this. 

He makes an amused sound, bringing the cigarette back to his lips to take another drag, able to make out her disapproving expression now with her closeness even with the fading light. He blows it out slowly, her nose wrinkling when the smell of it hits her. “Could have fooled me.”

“You sound jealous.”

He laughs again, but it still sounds off, even to him. “What do I have to be jealous of?” His jaw works as the blaring question creeps up in the back of his mind, and even as it falls from his mouth it feels terrible. “Or have you let him fuck you too?”

Even with the setting sun he can’t miss the way her face falls, and he hates himself for asking it even while every part of him wants to know the answer. 

“No,” she says quietly. “Just you.”

There’s an ugliness inside he’s afraid to name, one he thinks she’s _already_ named—and Ben has no way to navigate it, not when he’s never dealt with it before. 

He takes another slow inhale from the filter, letting the smoke fill his lungs if only to steady him, to give him time to collect his thoughts. He blows it out just as lazily, wondering why she lingers if she hates it so much. Worried he already knows the answer. 

“Is that why you came after me?” He keeps his voice even, wondering why the idea of it bothers him at this moment. It’s certainly never given him pause before. “Did you want me to fuck you?”

“No, I…” Her hand comes up to grip her arm in a nervous gesture, rubbing idly. “I can’t… right now.”

He’s about to ask what she means, brow wrinkling as it takes him just a _second_ too long—but then it all clicks, mouth parting as he gives a little _ah_ of understanding. The seconds tick by as neither of them speak, Ben taking that last slow drag before he puts it out on the rusted metal of the bench he sits on. “So why did you?”

“Why did I what?”

“Come after me.”

“I…” Her hand stops its slow up and down at her arm, and even if he can’t completely see it— he imagines her lip trapped between her teeth as is custom for her when she’s thinking. “You looked upset. When you left.”

“You saw?”

“Yeah.”

“What does it matter if I’m upset?”

“I just…” She takes a deep breath through her nostrils, letting it out in a slow exhale through her mouth. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he tells her too quickly, too fast to really be believable. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

She’s quiet, face still trained in his direction, and Ben feels some anxious energy in his chest—realizing that this is the longest conversation outside of all the things she lets him do to her in _years._

“You know, I could—” She bites back the words before she can finish, seeming to need a moment to get them out. “I know that I can’t—that _we_ can’t—but maybe I could—”

The anxious energy melts into sticky heat now, because he realizes what she’s saying. What she’s offering. He realizes it—but he wants to hear her _say it._

“You could what, Rey?”

“I could… to you.. I could…”

He decides to grant her one small mercy. “Are you offering to go down on me?”

“If you want,” she says in an almost-whisper.

The idea of it has him half-hard already—but Ben has never been one for pity. “Don’t force yourself. We’re good here, Rey. You don’t have to feel like you owe me something.”

“No, I… I _want_ to.”

He stares back at her shadowed shape for several moments, blinking idly as he lets those words settle. “You want to.”

“Yeah.”

She takes a step towards him, just a shuffle of her feet that brings her closer—and Ben’s eyes dart past her towards the open field that leads up the hill, seeing nothing and no one for at least the quarter-mile walk back up to the main area. 

He spreads his legs wider deliberately, resting his palms on his thighs and leaning back into the fence to give her a pointed look he’s not even sure she can make out.

“Well.”

He’s testing her, and he knows it, and maybe she knows it too—so there’s a thrill that licks up his spine, when she moves closer, undaunted by his challenge. 

She falls to her knees between his legs, and idly he thinks that her denim skirt most likely won’t be long enough to keep the skin there from getting red with the way she kneels. He thinks maybe it makes him a complete asshole to enjoy that thought. 

Her fingers are trembling slightly when they graze the fabric of his jeans, sliding higher and higher up the inside of his thighs as she tries to feel out where his zipper is. He knows she doesn’t miss the way his cock is hard beneath it now, and he can’t help but flex his hips a little to push further against her touch when her fingers rest just over the thicker denim of his fly. 

Her touch is light and hesitant, like she isn’t sure how to proceed, and Ben can’t describe what it does to him—knowing that she most likely doesn’t. He doesn’t touch her, not yet at least, wanting her to do this at her own pace. Her fingers tuck under the denim to work apart the button, lightly gripping the zipper as she pulls it down with shaking fingers. 

The sun is sinking lower, casting that orange and purple haze over the entire area—and Ben can just make out the way her brow is turned down in concentration, the way her mouth is set in a tight line as the metallic scrape of his zipper sounds in the space. 

She goes still when it’s down, lingering there with that same nervous energy that shouldn’t appeal to him but _does._ It _absolutely_ does. He does reach for her then, his fingers brushing back the hair that clings to her jaw. His touch seems to soothe her, if her slow exhale is any indication, and it is a foreign concept to Ben. Nothing about him as ever soothed anyone. Not since—

No. He definitely has no desire to think about his mother at this particular moment. 

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, unable to fathom why he would do so when he _desperately_ wants her to. 

“No, I…” She shakes her head. “No.”

She pulls apart the denim determinedly, his cock pressing insistently against the tight fabric of his boxer briefs. Her little fingers curl at the band there, tugging it down until his cock springs free to jut up between them. For a moment she doesn’t move—her breath heavy in the air as she just stares at him. Then there is a slow reach and a light touch, the tips of her fingers featherlight against his shaft as she tests the feel of him. It isn’t lost on him that it’s the first time that she’s touched him like this. In all the stolen moments they’ve had together—she’s _never_ touched him like this. 

Her touch is so light that it feels like the first time _anyone_ has ever touched him. 

But she doesn’t seem to know what to do. 

“Wrap your fingers around me,” he instructs quietly, and when her answering grip isn’t quite enough: “Tighter.”

It’s sinful, the way her touch makes him feel—but isn’t that the point?

Her thumb is careful,  _ too careful _ as it presses just under the head of his cock—but it doesn’t keep a bead of precum from collecting at the tip, doesn’t stop his mouth from parting in quiet ecstasy, because he thinks he might let this girl be as  _ careful _ as she likes with him for as  _ long _ as she likes. 

But they don’t have time for it. Not now. Maybe not ever, considering she shouldn’t be doing this with him in the first place. 

That first press of her lips is soft, just like she is—but it feels like more, it feels like _everything._ She mouths at him in a barely-there way that will never be enough to get him off, lips grazing down his shaft and back up again, and Ben can’t help the way he tilts his hips to seek more. The way a low sound rumbles in his chest as if to beg for it. 

“I don’t—” Her breath is warm against his cock, her mouth parted slightly, and there’s a flick of her tongue that nearly makes him come out of his skin. “Tell me what to do.”

Ben is _more_ than happy to do just that. 

“Open your mouth,” he urges quietly. “Wider than that.”

He curls his fingers around the base of his cock, rubbing the head against her waiting tongue as the warm wet of her mouth coats him there. He rocks his hips to let it slide further inside, past her teeth and over her tongue to wet the whole of the underside. 

“Now close,” he murmurs, watching her oblige and feeling the light seal of her mouth around him. 

She holds him there, just letting him rest against her tongue, and Ben’s breath comes faster, his cock swells _further_ —and he could come like this, he thinks, if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t.

He pushes his fingers into her hair to hold it back, giving her a pointed a look he hopes she can see. “Suck.”

It’s a slow pull at first, her tongue brushing along the underside, but then her eyes close as she tries to give him more, tries to take him _deeper._ She succeeds at first, pushing him further into her mouth—and Ben feels his blood rushing in his ears and heart pounding in his chest, and how can it be _so good_ when she hardly knows what she’s doing?

It’s all the more evident when she sputters a little, pulling away to cough lightly. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh,” he soothes, combing his fingers through her hair and curling his fist more firmly around the base of his cock. “It’s okay. Try again.”

She opens for him, letting him guide his cock back inside her mouth, closing her lips to suckle at the head as her tongue swirls around it. He closes his eyes as she lingers there getting a feel for him, testing what she can take. She goes slower this time, as she pushes him deeper, letting her lips settle more comfortably halfway down the length of him before drawing back up slowly. He keeps a firm grip at the base, deterring her from trying to take too much—more than content with just this. 

She finds a rhythm under his quiet instruction, heeding his quiet: _a little faster_ and executing his breathy: _harder._ His head falls back against the fence, and he jerks at the base of his cock to heighten the sensation, even tilting his hips now to meet the press of her mouth as he gives her more and more. 

“ _Fuck,_ Rey,” he grinds out. “I wish there was more light. Wish I could _see._ ”

He _can_ see the bobbing of her head as she sucks him into her mouth again and again, hear the little choked sounds she makes as she tries to keep her rhythm, determined to finish him, to _ruin_ him. 

He wonders if she knows she already has. 

Even if it doesn’t mean anything. 

He wishes he could mark her. Mark her so that everyone could _know_ that, for however brief a moment, she _wants_ him. Even if only like this. His mind is dizzy with the thought of it—of everyone knowing, of her being _okay_ with that—the fantasy heady even in its impossibility. Knowing that for however long he has her, it will always be for little more than this. 

“Open your shirt,” he grinds out, the urges inside building with the pressure of his release that feels close, _so close._

Her head stops moving, his cock resting in her mouth as it pulses with _need_ for her to keep going, and he can just make out the way her brows raise in confusion. The way she doesn’t understand what he’s asking. 

“Your shirt,” he tells her again through gritted teeth. “Unbutton it.”

It takes her a second, one where she’s still, _so still—_ but then he feels her shifting as her fingers reach for the buttons of her blouse, undoing each one slowly, just as he asked. He takes advantage of her preoccupied state to take matters into his own hands, one palm resting against the crown of her head to push lightly as he holds himself in the other, thrusting lightly into her mouth so as not to lose that building momentum. 

He makes a strangled sound when she hums around his cock, careful not to give her too much, all the while her little fingers working until the fabric of her blouse begins to gap and part, revealing something lacy underneath he can barely see. Something he wishes he could peel away with time they don’t have, with care she deserves. 

His fingers wind in her hair to tilt back her head, his mouth slack and his breath ragged as he slides over her tongue faster now. He’s close—hot pressure building to flood his cock, making him harder, making him _needy._ It’s just there, so close he can nearly feel it in his damned _teeth_ —and he only pulls away when he begins to twitch with that telltale sensation of release. He pulls her close to trap her between his legs, the head of his grazing somewhere below her collarbone as he curls inward.

He imagines it’s jarring, feeling his cum hot and sudden on her chest—but she only makes a soft sound, like a sharp intake of breath, and Ben shudders as he paints her skin with heavy pulses until she’s covered in him. He imagines if he could see it would _wreck him_ —the sight of her coated in his cum, but as it is he only reaches to drag his fingers through it. He flattens them against her skin to rub it in, as if marking her like this will somehow let everyone know that for these moments, that _right now_ —she is his.

He doesn’t apologize even though he knows he should, thinking that she must know by now who he is, and what he is—happy to play into that if only to protect her from the idea that he might ever want more than what they’re doing. Protecting himself from the inevitability of learning that she never will. 

He knows there is nothing here to clean him away. Knows that he’s a _bastard_ for what he’s done—but he can’t find it in him to regret it, however terrible. Her fingers come to brush against his, touching the mess he’s made of her, and he knows in a moment it will be a tacky irritation that she will most likely have no other choice but to be consciously aware of until she cleans it away. 

The thought thrills Ben, however vile it makes him. 

His sticky fingers come to rest under her chin, and she doesn’t pull away when he tilts up her face, when his mouth slants against hers. He wants to tell her that she did amazing, that it’s the best he’s ever had, that she’s _perfect_ —but that isn’t what this is, and they both know it. 

So he pulls away instead, tucking himself back into his jeans as she rises on shaky legs, the dark settling around them in a way that makes it almost impossible to make out her expression. When she’s righted, she pats away any lingering dust from her skirt, reaching in its pocket to fish out her phone and check the time. The light of the screen reveals a red mouth that is slightly swollen and _beautiful,_ and Ben has to clench his fists to keep from crossing the space and kissing her again. 

Maybe she wouldn’t be so against it. The two of them giving this a try. A _real_ try.

She came here didn’t she? She sought him out of her own volition. Always coming when he calls, always reaching for him, _reaching_ —and doesn’t that mean something? It has to. Surely, it _has_ to. His mouth parts, and his fists clench, and he should just say it. He should just _ask,_ and he—

“I’d better get back,” she says quietly, looking up from her phone with a blank expression. “Before they notice I’m gone.”

His mouth drifts closed, his eyes turning down to the ground. It’s a reminder that while she’s always reaching… it’s never in the light. Never where anyone can see. Reminded that everything she does with him is merely a stepping stone for someone else.

He is reminded of all that he’s good for. 

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “You’d better.” He looks up to find her brow furrowed, something in her eyes he can’t make out, but he assumes that it is concern. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, tone flat and hollow like he feels inside. “Even if they notice, no one will ever think that I was with you. We’re good.”

He can’t explain the way her expression falls a little, something in her eyes that might almost seem _sad_ —knowing he must be imagining it. Still too afraid of what she might say if he pressed her, if he asked her for anything more than this, really. 

She gives him one last look with a nod, and then her phone goes into sleep mode, taking away its light and leaving them both in the dark. Right where they always are. He watches her turn away to creep back over the court, the metallic whine of the gate sounding across it to signal her exit, and then she’s gone. Back to people and light and everywhere that she belongs. 

It is only later, when Ben is sitting at a campfire service that he wishes he could bail on, resting on the grass on the other side of a roaring fire and stealing glances in the same way he’s learning he’s helpless to fight—that he quietly allows himself to acknowledge that he wishes things were different. That he wishes he weren’t just someone she allows to fuck her in dark corners and empty rooms. That she let _him_ tell her jokes and hold her hand and take her places and everything else that comes with being out in the open. 

He watches her fingers press against the buttons of her blouse as she laughs at something someone says, and he knows that she feels him there, finds some sick pleasure in it, knowing that she can still _feel_ him. 

The group leader’s voice cuts through his thoughts, his poignant reading of 1 John heavy as it works its way into Ben’s ears. 

_"But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of the Son cleanseth us from all sin."_

Ben could almost laugh, even as there is no humor inside him. He knows after this Rey will do something similar. That she will rinse away the evidence of what they’ve done and put it behind her, stepping back into the light as if it didn’t happen.

Just like she’ll eventually do to him.


	5. no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I have been so busy this week and just BARELY managed to answer the comments for the last chapter and squeak by with getting this out on time 😪 it's a little on the long side... but this falls JUST after Rey leaves Ben in the closet in chapter 3 👀  
>   
> Another amazing gif board by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

Rey stares at the ceiling of her bedroom, trying to piece together what it is that brought her to this moment. 

She hasn’t stopped thinking about Ben’s eyes since the moment she left him alone in that closet. If she allows herself to dwell on that brief flash of surprise she’d seen there, that touch of something that seemed so much like the splintering she felt—that she _still feels_ —inside, if she allows herself to linger on it… she can almost believe that _he_ feels it too. That he doesn’t want to lose what they have, that he wants to find something _more._

Something that Rey isn’t sure he ever will. 

She hadn’t returned to the carnival after she’d left him there, instead tapping out a quick text to her grandmother with an excuse of not feeling well and marching out the doors and down the street to catch the bus home. She knows it will be hours still before Maz makes it home, knows that she’ll most likely stay to clean up after the carnival ends—and all she can hope at this point is that she can find a way to sort her tumultuous feelings into something more manageable before she is forced to face anyone. 

She is trying—just as she’s tried many times over the last few months—to make sense of how she got here. How she became a girl who would let someone use her body over and over, knowing that it meant nothing, knowing that she was giving such an intimate part of herself with no hope of ever getting anything in return. 

_Because you hoped,_ something whispers. _You hoped that you would._

And it’s true, she thinks. She did hope. Even if it was foolish, even if there was never anything to make her do so—she hoped that there was some small part of Ben that wanted all the things that she did. 

She just didn’t know it would hurt so bad to be proven wrong. 

Because she knows now, the truth of it all. Knows that some part of her naive heart fell in love with a broken boy and believed he could be better. She still thinks that he can—but she also thinks that it will never matter, because Ben will never be able to realize that himself anyway. Not with the way he thinks he deserves nothing, not with the way that somehow his self-deprecation seems to leave him believing that _she_ doesn’t either. 

Rey knows that she does. No matter what choices she’s made, no matter how naive she has been—Rey thinks she deserves _worlds_ better.

Even if it can’t be Ben. 

She rolls to her side as she tries yet again to bury the emotions inside, tucking her fists under her chin and curling in on herself a little to squeeze her eyes tight—refusing to cry again over this. She takes a deep breath through her nostrils just to let it out slowly through her mouth, feeling the welling liquid at the corners of her eyes despite her best efforts to stave them off. 

_I’ll be fine,_ she tells herself, over and over like a mantra. _It’s going to be fine. I’ll get through this. I’ll forget all about him. I’ll—_

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

For a moment she thinks she imagines it, the little repetitive sound at her window—and she closes her eyes a little tighter as the trembling in her shoulders gives only a slight warning to the tears that are surely to come. She hates it, this weakness, hates that she feels like a husk of herself, hates that she—

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

She lifts her head, the sound louder now, more insistent. She wipes at her eyes as she pushes up on her hands, peering across the darkness of her room to her window across it. She can just make out something on the other side, just the shape of it, but solid and clear—and it is not until the tapping sounds again followed by the distinct silhouette of hands cupping against the glass that she can make out where it comes from.

She swings her legs over the side of her bed in a daze, letting them dangle for a moment as she tries to rationalize him being here, _here_ —at her home, outside her _room._ She lets her toes brush against the carpet before she applies weight, letting her feet make slow steps across the room until she’s just there, just outside her window to see him staring back at her. She lets her fingers work their way under the wood, lifting up the aged pane as the cool night air rushes in. 

For a moment she can only stare at him, her brain not quite able to wrap itself around the idea that he’s here, that he came _after_ her.

“Ben?”

His lips press together, rolling them in that way he does when he’s nervous, something she thinks she might be the _only_ one who knows that he even does—releasing a shaky breath as his fingers grip the windowsill just a little too tightly. “Can I come in?”

Her brow furrows, still feeling a little _hit over the head_ with his presence. “How did you know where I was?”

“I looked for you,” he says in a rush. “At the carnival. I figured you went home when I couldn’t find you.”

Her mouth opens and closes just to open again. “But how did you know where I live?”

“I’ve…” I’ve cocks his head like she’s said something odd. “...been here before?”

She shakes her head. “We were like eight.”

“I didn’t forget.”

Something about this nearly meaningless admission tugs at something inside, stoking that little fire of hope she wishes didn’t burn inside her. “Why are you here, Ben?”

“Can I come in?” He looks around as he asks again, flicking his eyes to the other houses nearby and back again, bouncing a little on his heels like he's unsettled. “I just want to talk.”

She sighs wearily. “What is there to talk about? I said everything I had to say.”

“But you didn’t let _me_ say anything.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to say things. Why now?”

“Because I…” His mouth gapes, like he’s trying to collect his thoughts, like he _himself_ hardly knows what he came here to tell her. “I–”

“I’m tired, Ben,” she tells him quietly, meaning more than just this conversation. “Can we just—”

“I don’t want it either,” he blurts out. Her words die on her tongue, confused by his meaning at first, but Ben just keeps going. “I don’t want to just fuck you in closets or the nursery or shit like that.”

She’s staring at him through the open window, at a loss for words. Her heart gives an extra beat more than it should, as if it’s waiting for something, as if it might leap out of her chest if she lets it run away with itself. 

“You…” She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, and she feels herself leaning over the sill. “Then what _do_ you want?”

“I want to fuck you in a bed,” he says insistently. He shakes his head, making a face as if this isn’t quite what he meant to say. “I mean… I want the handholding, and I want to take you places, I want people to _know_ that I want to—but mostly I just want you.” His voice goes a little softer. “Just you.”

She blinks back at him, feeling a lightness in her limbs she doesn’t quite trust. “You do?”

“You have no idea.”

“But you didn’t—” 

She leans out the window, frowning at the closeness of their neighbors. She tugs on his hand, urging him in as he quickly hops up and over the ledge to step into her bedroom. For a moment he just takes it in, eyes sweeping around to catalogue her things briefly. 

She clears her throat, trying to keep a handle on her wayward emotions. “You never said anything. Not _once.”_

“Neither did you.”

Her mouth parts. “I _told_ you last week that I wanted—”

“Can you blame me for thinking that was just something you said in the moment? You didn’t say anything after. Not all _week.”_

“Neither did _you,”_ she echoes.

He goes quiet for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Maybe I was scared.”

She snorts. “You’ve never been scared of anything.”

“I’m scared of _you,”_ he tells her firmly.

She reels, open mouth drifting shut as her brow furrows. “Me?”

He wrings his hands together, biting at the inside of his lip. “People don’t—” He blows out a breath. “Girls don’t want that stuff with me.”

“ _What_ stuff?”

“The handholding,” he admits quietly. “Everything else.”

She makes a sound of disbelief. “I doubt that’s—”

“Not one. Never.” His eyes bore into hers when she finds them again. “No one wants to be with me in the open.”

“Have you ever given anyone the chance to?”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Trust me. I couldn’t blame them. I know what a fuck up I am.”

“Ben, you’re not a—”

“Yes, I am,” he interrupts with a bitter laugh. “I always have been. Just ask my dad.”

She frowns, knowing from things she’s seen with her own eyes that Han hasn’t gained any more appreciation for his only son. It’s in the way he talks to him, it’s in the way he _doesn’t_ talk to him. 

“Is it worse?”

“That depends on your perspective, I guess. Is it better to have him constantly cutting into me about what a disappointment I am, or is it better that he does his best to pretend I don’t exist?”

“Ben…” 

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” he huffs. “I don’t want it. It is what it is.” His brow turns down in thought. “I think when Mom died he—” He closes his eyes. “Anyway, it is what it is.”

“But you have to know you’re _not_ as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says quietly. “I know what I am.”

“No, you don’t,” she urges. “Obviously.”

“The fact that we are even here right now is evidence of what a piece of shit I am.”

“What do you—”

“I should never have touched you,” he snaps. “I shouldn’t have ever started this in the first place. _Especially_ after I knew you’d never—” His lips press together, and he doesn’t have to say it, they both know what he means. “But I did it anyway. Even knowing what a bastard I was for it. I was so fucking selfish.”

“Selfish?”

He runs his fingers through his hair nervously, mussing it. “I knew you’d regret it eventually. I knew eventually that you’d hate that you ever let it happen—but I took what I could anyway. Took everything I could from you, because when I’m with you I—”

He closes his mouth as if he’s reconsidering, and Rey finds herself leaning in. “You _what_ , Ben?”

He releases an unsteady breath. “You’re so _good_ , Rey. Everything about you. Everything I’m not. Maybe that’s why when I’m with you… I don’t feel so bad.”

She swallows thickly. “And that scared you?”

“It scared me to think of you never wanting me back.”

She considers this for a long span of seconds, Ben’s face trained down at the floor now as she works her jaw in thought. “I wouldn’t have… done those things with you… if I didn’t like you.”

“But you…” He’s looking at her now with an expression that is almost lost, as if he’s trying to remember. “After that first time… You were so worried someone would find out.”

“ _Ben_.” She sighs exasperatedly. “We had just… _done things_ at _church._ Of course I didn’t want anyone to find out.”

“So… it wasn’t because you didn’t want anyone to know you were with me?”

She shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So after, when I said—”

“When you told me don’t worry, you’d make sure no one ever found out we were together?”

“Yes,” he answers quietly. “That.”

“I assumed it was because _you_ didn’t want anyone to know that you were with _me.”_

“But that’s not—I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” She thinks of all the times he’s assured her that no one would know, that he would make sure no one knew she was with _him—_ looking at it a little differently now. Her voice is softer when she adds: “I think maybe we both have misread a few things.”

There is a long stretch of moments where he just stares at her, as if he’s trying to make sense of all this new information. His hands make fists at his side, his fingers clenching and unclenching, never taking his eyes off her face.

“You really liked me? That first time?”

“I told you. I wouldn’t have done any of those things with you if I didn’t.”

“And what about—” He takes a tentative step, stopping himself from going further as if he’s still unsure. “What about now?”

It’s a little harder to breathe now, her chest rising and falling unsteadily. “I meant what I said,” she answers softly. “Earlier.”

He takes another step, standing just in front of her, and he reaches tentatively as he watches her face, his fingers brushing against hers gently as if he’s still afraid she’ll change her mind. He winds them together, the weight of his hand in hers heavy and warm, and she feels the almost-imperceptible back and forth of his thumb against her hand. 

“I do want you,” he almost whispers. “Just you.”

It isn’t lost on her how alone they are right now, how there’s no real sense of urgency, no undercurrent of dread at being caught—and it’s as thrilling as it is mildly terrifying, because there is nothing now but him and her and the way they apparently _both_ feel. 

Her eyes are level with his chest now, and she unwinds their hands so that she can let hers follow the same path. Her fingers are featherlight over his shirt as she slides them higher—tickling either side of his throat and climbing higher still until she can cup his face. There is an almost imperceptible tilt of his head as if he’s leaning into her touch, his lashes nearly fluttering closed as his fingers find her waist to settle, leaning a little even as she pushes up on her toes with a hesitancy that she still can’t quite shake, feeling as if they’re in some sort of uncharted waters with no way to navigate. 

But his hands sliding up her spine encourage her, and the way his breath catches when she arches to mold herself against him makes her bold, and when his arms wind around her completely when his lips cover hers, holding her tightly against him as he kisses her in a way she doesn’t think he ever has before. 

He holds her like it’s the first time, he holds her like he’s afraid to _let go_ —and there is something in it that she has never felt between them. Something that feels like _more._

His fingers wind their way into her hair, and his kiss becomes a little heavier, a little more insistent—and she’s pulling at his face as if she can somehow take more, as if she can take everything he has. 

She feels his hands sliding down her spine at some point, grazing lightly over the curve of her ass, and she makes a soft sound of surprise when they find their way under her thighs to hoist her up—holding her against him as he moves them across the room to her bed. He lays her across the mattress gently, continuing to kiss her even as he dips a knee at the edge to crawl over her, and it is only when his weight is settled over a good portion of her body that he stops to pull away and look at her. 

“This…” His eyes move over her face as he swallows. “This is a bed.”

Her heart beats wildly in her chest. “It is.”

His gaze flicks down to her shirt that covers her, and she can feel the way his fingers tease the hem that is rucked up around her navel. “I’ve never done it in a bed.”

She can’t help the way she grins a little. “Neither have I.”

His lips curl in a small smile, only faltering a bit when he starts to slide her shirt higher—watching with bated breath as he works it up slowly. She arches her back and lifts her arms when she needs to—only a _little_ nervous about the prospect of him getting her naked. She tells herself it’s not any different than anything else they’ve done—so why does it _feel_ like it is?

His gaze lingers on her chest that is lit only by the soft moonlight that pours in from her window—pressing one large hand over her navel to slide it higher until it rests between the cups of her bra. Surely he can feel the way her heart pounds beneath it, and her teeth trap her lower lip when he lowers to replace his hand with his ear, resting his head over her chest for several moments to listen to the sounds of her breathing and the hammering of her heart. She reaches to wind her fingers in his hair—combing through the soft tresses as he makes a content sound, and her breath catches a little when he turns suddenly to press a kiss at the swell of her breast. When he leaves another at her collarbone. When he kisses up her throat to find her mouth again. 

He kisses her sweetly as his fingers glide over her ribs and down her side—catching at the hem before tracing the flesh above to meet each other at the button in the center. “I think about this all the time,” he tells her as he slowly works the button apart. “Undressing you.”

She closes her eyes as he starts to inch down her zipper. “Really?”

“It’s torture,” he says raggedly. “Knowing all the pieces but not having the whole picture.”

His breath huffs against her mouth as he starts sliding the fabric over her thighs, leaving a kiss at the corner of her mouth when she lifts her hips without being prompted so that he can pull her skirt down her legs. His hands cover her thighs after, palming and squeezing, only pulling them away to push against the bed so that he can lift up to look at her. 

His voice is a rasped husk of what it was, and even in the dark she can’t miss that _look_ in his eye. His hand curls over her hip, nearly covering it entirely as he lets his thumb stroke under her navel. “God, Rey. You look…”

He trails off like he can’t find the words, and Rey feels a nervous energy trickling through her from being in only her underwear and bra beneath him. She squirms when he continues to just stare down at her, finally reaching to hook a finger under the hem of his jeans to give a little tug.

“This is very unbalanced,” she murmurs.

The corner of his mouth quirks. “I like balance.”

“Then why don’t you…”

“I want you to do it.”

She swallows, trembling fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt as he continues to hover over her. She undoes them one by one, each gapped button revealing more and more of the firm body beneath, and she doesn’t stop until both pieces of his shirt fall to the side to let her run her fingertips lightly down his abdomen. She feels him tense under her touch, sees his eyes going hooded as his lips press together, and his obvious pleasure spurs her onward to reach for the button of his jeans next. She holds her breath as she works the denim apart—letting the tip of her finger dip inside to tease the base of his cock that is already so hard for her. 

He seems to lose his patience when she starts to push his jeans over his hips, pushing up on his knees to wrench his shirt off and toss it away. He’s aiding her in kicking away his jeans as he settles his body back against hers. He’s kissing her again, his lips moving over her throat as he rocks against her, and even through the thin material of her underwear she can feel how _hard_ he is, the way he strains against his boxer briefs, and she realizes she is feeling more of his skin than she has _ever_ felt before. 

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice is barely a whisper against her skin. “When you asked for more?”

She nods against his shoulder, closing her eyes as his lips and tongue work some sort of magic just beneath her jaw. “Yes,” she breathes. “This is what I wanted.”

“So did I,” he rasps. She can feel his hands working their way under her back to let his fingers trip at the clasp of her bra. “But I want even more.” His teeth graze her skin. “I want it _all_.”

She arches when he whispers that she do so, pulling her bra away from her arms to add it to the growing pile on her floor. He doesn’t give her a moment to feel embarrassed, ducking his head to kiss down her chest before he licks at the soft swell of her breast. He nips just beneath before he captures her nipple between his lips, sucking softly and drawing a needy sound from her as he groans into her skin. 

“You’re always so beautiful,” he tells her airily, kissing a lazy path between her breasts to give the same attention on the other side. “So fucking _perfect.”_

It’s all the things she never thought he’d say, and hearing them only makes her feel lighter, makes her feel _right._ “ _Ben.”_

“I was right,” he says breathily, fingers drifting below to curl into the band of her underwear. “A bed has merits.” He starts to inch the cotton scrap down her thighs, his fingers taking care to touch every part he can reach on the way down. _“A lot_ of merit.”

His fingers trail up the inside of her thigh when she’s bare, tracing a slow path up the length of her until they meet the already-wet center of her cunt, teasing through her folds as her hands curl over his shoulders to grip him there.

“Ben,” she says roughly. “You too. I want—I want to—”

“ _Fuck.”_ He pushes two fingers at her entrance, her words morphing into a gasp. “You don’t know what it does to me. Knowing I’m the only one that’s been here. That you’re practically _made_ for me.” 

She’s tugging at the band of his underwear now, wanting to feel him. “Take these off.”

“You want my cock, Rey?” He mouths at the underside of her breast, working his fingers inside to pump them lazily in and out of her. “Is that what you want?”

“Ben,” she says through gritted teeth. 

“I think you like it when I tease you.” He flicks his tongue against her nipple, promptly pulling it into his mouth after for a long pull between his lips. “Don’t you.”

She makes a frustrated sound. “ _Ben.”_

“I think you’ve always liked it,” he says with a content hum. “Haven’t you.”

She has a grip on his underwear now, pushing it over his hips urgently as he curls his fingers inside to make her whimper. “God, you’re such a—”

Suddenly he’s there, mouth covering hers to swallow her words as his hand slips from between her legs to finally, _finally_ help her with tearing away his underwear. He shuffles out of them to kick them away, and then there is the hard, hot length of him between her legs, the heat of his cock almost unbearable as it slides between her folds, only making her want more. 

“What am I?” He nips at her lower lip. “Tell me.”

“Terrible,” she grumbles playfully.

Despite everything, he smiles against her mouth. “Tell me something I don’t know, sweetheart.” His hands slide down her thighs to squeeze. “Spread your legs. Wider.”

She lets her knees fall apart so that he can settle more between them, one of his large hands kneading her ass as the other holds her open with a firm grip. He goes still for a moment, raising his head so that he can look down at her, and Rey is surprised by the concerned look there, the way his brow is turned down with something like regret.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her quietly, like the words are hard. “That this wasn’t your first time.”

She feels her lips curling, feels her heart fluttering in her chest, her skin warm with the tinge of remorse in his voice. _Happy_ that he’s thinking about this, even if only in hindsight.

“Then let’s pretend,” she murmurs back to him, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. “What would you do if this was my first time, if you could do it all again?”

He releases a shuddered breath, a slow smile at his mouth as his lashes flutter closed. “I’d have done it here, just like this, in a bed.”

She kisses his cheek, carding her fingers through his hair as he tilts his hips to slide through the wet crease of her. “What else?”

“I’d have taken my time with peeling all your clothes off,” he breathes. “I’d have wanted to take the time to enjoy it.”

“Check,” she whispers, “and check.”

“I’d have told you how fucking beautiful you are, not just like this, but _all the time._ Your smile and your laugh and your hair and your eyes and _all of it_ —sometimes it’s hard to breathe when I look at you.”

Her chest has never felt so full, so tight, and every word that falls from his mouth feels like a balm to her wounded soul that has been so battered in the wake of their rocky start. She can feel it mending with every utterance. 

Her voice is a little shakier now. “And what else, Ben?”

He lifts his head, face inches away as his gaze holds hers, his jaw working subtly as he wrestles with whatever words he wants to say. His breath comes unsteadily past his lips, and his hands tremble against her skin. “I’d tell you that I love you,” he says quietly, his words barely there. “If this was our first time _._ ”

There is a lump in her throat she can hardly swallow around, and a wetness at her eyes that makes her vision blurry. “Then it’s a good thing we’re pretending.”

“It is,” he tells her with a small smile.

She inhales just to let it out slowly. “If this was my first time… I’d tell you that I love you too, you know.”

There are several moments where he says nothing, where her heart still remains lodged in her throat, and when he finally speaks—the quiet disbelief in his voice threatens to ruin her. “You would?”

“Yes.” She kisses softly at the corner of his mouth. “I would.”

He buries his face in her hair, holding her close, his voice impossibly soft. “Then I guess it _is_ good that we’re pretending.”

“It is.”

His hands find her hips, his fingers curling against her skin. “Rey,” he chokes out. “I want to—”

“Please, Ben,” she begs breathlessly. “ _Please.”_

He lifts his head as he dips his hips, covering her mouth with his as his cock nudges at her entrance. His tongue slides across her lower mouth, dipping inside as she opens for him, and then there is a low groan in his throat as he slowly, _slowly_ begins to push inside.

“I’ll never get enough of this,” he grinds out. “It’s all I think about. _You’re_ all I think about, I—” He releases a shuddered breath, sliding deep until his hips are flush with hers. “You love me?”

She closes her eyes as her lips rest against his, murmuring, “I do.”

There’s a deep groan on his throat, and he’s moving now, a slow slide of his hips as he kisses her urgently. “I do too,” he manages between each press of his lips. “I love you. _God,_ I love you.”

“Ben,” she breathes as he moves inside her a little faster. “ _Ben.”_

“I don't deserve you,” he grinds out, and she wants to tell him he’s wrong, but his thrusts jolt her body and steal her breath. “But I’m _going_ to. I will. I _swear.”_

She’s too sensitive, too overwhelmed with sensation and with words—and already she feels something building, something that threatens to tear her apart. “Oh, _God,_ right there, I—”

“Come,” he growls into her skin as his lips finds her throat to mouth there. “ _Please.”_

As if to aid her, his fingers find their way between her legs to tease her clit, abandoning pretense as he swirls a heavy circle there to stoke that fire inside further. She feels it building and _building_ as it threatens to overflow—her mouth parted and her eyes shut tight as her hips shift incessantly to chase after each thrust, trying to meet them.

There’s a wordless cry at her mouth when she feels her insides begin to tremble, her nails clawing at his shoulders as her teeth find purchase there to stifle the moan that follows after. Ben is far less reserved with his sounds, steady stream of _fuck fuck fuck_ falling from his mouth as he pounds into her quivering warmth erratically now. His thrusts are staggered, and his breath is harsh, and the way his hands _grip her_ —it makes it easy to pretend that this _is_ her first time. She thinks this moment is just as good a start for them as any. 

His cock pulses inside, and there is a gush of warmth as his big body goes still—and she closes her eyes as she lets her fingers smooth over his shoulders, kissing softly at his throat as they both try to catch their breath.

“People will talk,” he huffs out at some point. “About us.”

“I don’t care,” she assures him, kissing his jaw. “I don’t.”

He pushes up to look at her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then neither do I.” He lowers to kiss her softly, lingering between her legs like he’s not ready to pull away yet. “How long until Maz gets back?”

“At least an hour,” she tells him, distracted by the way his lips have begun to wander over her jaw. 

She feels his lips curl against her skin. “Plenty of time.”

“Really?” She laughs as he bites playfully at her throat. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Of you?” He huffs out a breath as his arms curl around her a little tighter. “Never.”

She’s grinning as she plays with the bit of hair that hangs loosely at his nape. “Does this mean you’re done with the nursery?”

“I don’t know…” He lifts his head, a sly grin at his mouth. “You know what they say.” 

She quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“ _Remember the Sabbath.”_

Rey groans. “You’re going to hell.”

He laughs as he finds her mouth. “Totally worth it.”

She enjoys this new slowness of his kiss, this quiet reverence that seems so unlike him and yet so _right_ —and even if she’ll never admit it… Rey couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its weird writing the happy ending nearly in the middle? lol nonlinear is weird.


	6. i was born sick, but i love it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO this is probably weird but hey, this is a nonlinear, right?
> 
> So, here is their first time, much out of order. (Or at least, their first time before they found a redo ❤️)  
> Mind the new tags!  
>   
> PRETTY BOARD IS PRETTY BY [COLOURISGREEN](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen)!

Rey isn’t sure when she started watching Ben Solo.

She thinks they were friends once, in that _both at church more often than not_ sort of way—but the way she watches him now is different than when they were kids. She can’t pin down when it changed—when she started noticing that he’d grown into his ears, and his hands, and every other part of his too-big body—but she notices now. 

The way she looks at him is also vastly different than she ever looked at Poe.

She liked Poe, of course she did; they dated for years after all, or at least in the way that teenagers call dating—but she doesn’t ever remember looking at Poe and wondering what his hands might feel like on her skin. She has never stolen glances at Poe and wondered what his kiss might feel like. (She knows, after all, it’s a little too heavy and just a little sloppier than she’d like.)

She wonders if Ben’s kiss is sloppy.

She wonders why she wonders at all.

She heard Kaydel Connix talking about it at the end of their junior year, about how Ben _knew what he was doing_ —and it’s something that’s prodded at her consciousness ever since. There is a part of her that wonders if this is why she broke things off with Poe, not that she would ever admit it even if it were true—but she does wonder. 

She wonders if she simply started letting her wondering get the best of her.

All of this wondering means that it is more of a surprise, when Ben speaks to her at the church picnic. Even more so, because it is the first time Ben has spoken to her since they were fourteen years old.

The sun is bright overhead, and his words almost seem lost to the wind, with the way Rey stares dumbly back at him. 

“What?”

Ben blinks twice. “I said, can you hand me the mustard?”

“Oh.” She feels her neck flush, realizing she was focused more at the shape of his mouth than the words coming out of it. “Right. Sorry.”

She reaches across the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth, handing him the yellow bottle, doing her best not to shiver when his fingers brush against hers. She almost imagines that they linger for longer than necessary, but surely that’s only in her mind. She very much doubts that Ben has been watching _her_ like she has been watching _him._

He passes it back when he’s thoroughly saturated his top bun in the tangy substance, handing it back to her with a blank expression. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she answers quietly. 

As she watches him stride away, Rey can’t help but think about the last time they spoke.

It had been raining then, the pair of them underneath the covered awning over the double doors that lead into the church entry—Ben leaned against the brick flower bed while he read and Rey poked at the violets above him. They weren’t friends then, not really, but they spoke when they had to. When they were in range to do so—which was (and still is) fairly often. Given that they're both at the church so much. 

She remembers his voice hadn’t been so deep then, just shifting into that changing state of puberty, and it gave him a habit of talking softer than he needed to. She thinks probably to keep the cracking to a minimum. 

They were waiting for the business meeting to let out, waiting to get out of there and go home to whatever fourteen-year-olds did on Sunday afternoons—and she remembers his question as if he’d just asked her only moments ago.

There was a sharp turn of his page, a rustling of paper before: “Are you going to the Winter Ball?”

For a moment she’d been surprised, the casual air of his voice something she wasn’t used to. It isn’t as if they had actual conversations that often.

“The Winter Ball?” He was looking up at her from the ground when she peeked down at him, nodding “Oh,” she said distractedly. “Yeah. Poe asked me last week.”

She has never forgotten the way his mouth pressed into a tight line, the way his brow wrinkled—and his second nod, heavier this time, had been the last he’d ever given her. 

She remembers being confused then, wondering if for a moment he’d wanted to ask her himself—but the way he’d quickly left her there, disappearing into the rain to stalk off to the parsonage just on the other side of the church, Rey never got a chance to find out. 

Ben had become something of a different person after his mother died—not that they’d been _particularly_ good friends before—but she’d noticed the change in him. Everyone did, to be fair. Gone was the quiet boy with an easy smile and a quiet voice, and in his place was some broken version of himself, suspended nearly as much as he actually _attended_ school, in and out for fighting and blowing off class and God knows what else—and Rey can’t help the way she’s thought about him all these years.

She even thinks it might be a natural thing, the way her thoughts have turned from casual curiosity to something deeper, something that sometimes keeps her up at night with her wondering. It’s made worse with the way she knows the relationship with his father seems to have only worsened in his mother’s absence—and for the life of her, she has never been able to understand what it is that makes Brother Solo so terse with his son. She wonders if Ben himself even knows.

She spends the rest of the picnic chatting with the other girls from school, avoiding Poe who still seems to have not gotten used to the idea of them not being together anymore, and doing her best not to let her eyes follow Ben Solo. She isn’t doing so well on the last front.

She’s not sure what it is about today that has her somehow more aware of him than usual.

Maybe it’s because he spoke to her for the first time in years. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time she’s noticed how dark his eyes have gotten or how soft his mouth looks up close. Maybe it’s the way she’s beginning to suspect she wants _him_ to watch _her_ as well.

Even after the picnic, when people have started to leave, she can’t stop stealing glances. Her grandmother is on the ladies committee, which just means they cleanup after functions, help organize others, decorate… things like that. Basically it means that Rey is at church for a lot of her free time. Just like Ben.

She can see him from the little cutout window of the kitchen where they’re cleaning dishes and putting away leftover food, see him _and_ his father—and she pretends to be washing the dishes as she watches the two of them argue. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but the look on Ben’s face is evidence of a less-than-friendly chat. She watches Brother Solo’s lips purse, watches Ben’s face turn down with something that makes her chest hurt a little, and then Ben’s father leaves him there, stalking out the front doors to chat with people still loitering under the pavilion. Ben stomps off in the other direction, in escape, Rey thinks, up past the pulpit and through the side door that leads to the old wing of the church that no one really uses anymore. 

She’s not sure at what point she decides to follow him, isn’t even sure what she plans to _do_ —but her feet are carrying her out of the kitchen before she even realizes, past the other ladies who are gossiping while they put dishes away, past the pulpit and down the hall in search of him. It’s not her best idea, it’s not even a _good_ one—but she can’t get his voice out of her head. So deep and slow and somewhat _sad_. She thinks to herself that she wants to hear more of it, and she thinks that is part of the reason that urges her onward.

She can’t remember the last time she came down here, down the winding hallway with old classrooms and panelled walls, but she peeks inside each one with a pounding heart as she seeks him out. She finds him in the old nursery, draped in an aged rocking chair that looks too small for him, the toe of his foot pushing him along in a slow back and forth.

He looks up at her with a brief expression of surprise when she closes the door behind her, masking it quickly. “My dad send you?”

“What? No, I—” She realizes she still has no idea why she’s here. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He blinks back at her like she’s spoken in a foreign language. “You wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“Yeah… I saw you arguing with your dad, and I just—” Why is she _here?_ “I don’t know. You seemed upset.”

“And why would you care that I’m upset?”

“I’m…” That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? She isn’t sure it would be prudent to tell him she simply wanted to hear more of his voice. “I’m not sure, really.”

He’s still looking at her curiously as if he’s trying to figure her out. “Poe know you’re back here?”

“No,” she says a little tersely, somewhat bitter with the knowledge that he knows so little about her. It’s probably proof that she shouldn’t be here. “I’m not with Poe anymore.”

That flash of surprise is back, and it takes him a little longer to mask it now. “Really.”

“We broke up over the summer.”

“What for?”

“I just think we’re better as friends.”

Ben laughs under his breath. “So he was a lousy fuck.”

She feels heat creeping down her neck, the dirty word out of his soft mouth doing odd things to her insides. “That’s none of your business.”

"Yeah,” he huffs. “You’re probably right.” Ben pushes up from the rocking chair, not looking at her as he dusts off his slacks. “I’m fine. So. You can just go.”

Rey bites on her lower lip, knowing she _should_ do that. She wrings her hands together as his gaze tips up to find her face again. “Things with your dad… they never got any better. Did they.”

“That’s none of _your_ business,” he says angrily.

“I just… I know what he was like when we were kids, and I’ve been watching you, and I know that—”

He takes a step closer, her words dying on her tongue at his closeness. “What do you mean, you’ve been watching me?”

“I—” She takes a step back, but there’s a counter there. One that doesn’t allow escape. “Not all the time.”

He’s still _just there_ —towering over her in a way that’s _actually_ towering, because when did he get _so_ tall? “So when then?” He reaches casually to pluck a stray curl that clings to her cheek, brushing it away from her face. “When do you watch me?”

“Just… sometimes.”

“And why is that?”

It feels a little hard to breathe now, with as close as he is. “I don’t know.”

But doesn’t she though? Doesn’t she _actually_ know?

“Did you know that sometimes I watch you too?” He taps his finger against her bottom lip, and Rey feels like her head is spinning. “But I know _exactly_ why.”

“You do?” Her voice seems off now. “Why?”

“I’ve never seen Poe kiss you. Why is that?”

She blinks back at him. “What?”

“It’s a simple question.”

“I… We never did stuff like that. In public.”

Ben’s jaw works. “So what did you do in private?”

“That’s… That’s none of your business,” Rey breathes.

He drags his finger along her jawline. “Did he kiss you here? In _private?”_

She has to will her eyes not to close as he traces a line from her jaw to her chin and back down the other side. “No.”

“What about here?” He drags his finger down over her throat, his fingers sliding to encircle her there lightly. “Did he kiss you here?”

“N-no.” She’s remembering gentle kisses and polite distances, and she can’t tell Ben that no one has _ever_ kissed her like he’s describing. “No, he didn’t.”

“That’s a shame,” Ben murmurs.

“It is?”

His finger trails back up the length of her throat, settling under her chin to tilt up her face and force her eyes to meet his. “Because that’s what I think about, when I’m watching you. Kissing you there. Other places too.”

Her heart pounds away in her chest, the knowledge that he’s been watching her, that he’s been looking at her just like she’s been looking at _him_ making her stomach flutter and her chest heat. “Other places?”

“Mhm.” His thumb comes to stroke across her lower lip. “All sorts of places.”

“You… think about that? With Me?”

He looks at her like he wants to say something, but he only nods, still looking at her mouth.

“You never said anything,” she says quietly.

“You were with that prick,” he tells her, his voice tight. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

“I care,” she almost whispers, still unable to pinpoint just when she started to so much. 

“You do?” His thumb applies a bit of pressure at her bottom lip, forcing her mouth to part as he studies her eyes. “Ah, you do.” She can feel the tip of his thumb against her teeth, and she shivers with it. “You’ve got that look in your eye.” His hand shifts so that his palm slides against her jaw. “Like you want me to kiss you right now.” She can feel his fingertips curling around her nape. “Do you want me to kiss you right now, Rey?”

She isn’t sure how they got here, didn’t anticipate _any_ of this when she came looking for him—or maybe she did. Maybe some part of her hoped for this. She can’t be sure. She only knows that: “Yes,” she breathes. “I do.”

His hands are hot on her skin, and his breath is warm against her mouth, and he’s leaning, actually _leaning,_ and—

Rey finds out all at once what Ben’s kiss is like. It isn’t sloppy, and there isn’t too much of his tongue, in fact, she’s not sure how he manages to give _just enough_ when he’s dividing and conquering to fill her mouth. Her head spins with it, a combination of his lips and tongue and his fingers in her hair and on her hip, and the room begins to spin as well, she thinks, or maybe it’s just them. 

She has had several kisses in her life, most from Poe, some from others—but she can definitively say that she has _never_ been kissed the way Ben Solo is kissing her now. He kisses her like it’s all he thinks about, he kisses her like he needs her to _breathe_ —and she finds her fingers reaching for the collar of his shirt, gripping to pull him closer, to take _more,_ even if she isn’t sure what that _more_ is.

Not until she feels his fingers on her bare skin at the hem of her shirt, not until his mouth breaks away to kiss over her jaw and down her throat, all the places that he’d left a searing path with his fingertips. She closes her eyes as his mouth brands her skin and his fingertips do much of the same, and some delicious pressure builds between her legs that she’s never felt before. Some throbbing sensation that is reminiscent of a heartbeat. 

It makes her dizzy, it makes her a little _wild_ —and when she feels his hand hot and heavy through the gauzy material of her skirt over her thigh, Rey makes a breathy sound deep in her throat that she’s never made in her entire _life._

“Did he touch you like this?” Ben’s voice is rasped and his breath hot against her throat where his tongue tastes her there. “In _private?_ ”

She tries to shake her head, but it’s barely-there, too focused on his lips and his tongue and even his _teeth._ “N-no. Never.”

“I would have,” he grinds out, nipping at the underside of her jaw. “You look too fucking sweet not to.”

She is wholly aware that both of his hands are at her skirt now, bunching the fabric until she feels the hem tickling the skin above her knees. “I do?”

“You always look so _sweet,_ ” he huffs against her throat. “Can’t help but want to mess you up a little.”

His fingertips press into the softness of her thighs, and it is then she realizes how much of her skirt he’s worked up over them. “ _Ben._ ”

“Did he touch you here?” He licks at the corner of her mouth, pressing his lips there after as his fingertips drag higher, tracing the edge of her underwear in the crease of her thighs. “Did he ever touch you under these pretty little panties?” He looks down then, and she feels embarrassment course through her at the sound he makes, a deep groan like he’s in pain. “Fucking white. They’re fucking _white._ ” She gasps when he presses a knuckle at the center of her, biting her lip because she should stop him, right? Why doesn’t she want him to stop? “You’re _wet._ Did he touch you here? Did he ever make you wet?” He looks at her then, knuckle pressing between her folds to run up and down until she’s breathless, his eyes dark and a little wild. “Did he, Rey?”

She gives a slow shake of her head. “N-no,” she answers shakily. “No one has.”

His hand stills. “No one?”

“No one,” she answers quietly.

His chest is rising and falling roughly, his eyes still _so dark_ as he stares back at her. “Do you want me to stop touching you?”

She’s trying to catch her own breath, letting his question bounce around in her head as she struggles to find the answer. _Does_ she want him to stop touching her? She knows she should say yes, that it is not good of her to let him continue on like this, in the _church nursery_ no less—but she realizes that it’s this, it’s the way he’s touching her, it’s _where_ he’s doing it—that is making her heart pound like it is. Because she has never done anything bad in her entire life, never even _thought_ of doing something like this—and so she has never felt the coursing all-over pleasure that she’s feeling right now. Surely something that feels so good… can’t be that bad, right?

“No,” she whispers hoarsely. “I don’t.”

His lips curl at the corners, and he pulls his hands away to grip her hips, lifting her in one quick movement to set her atop the counter. “Do you want me to touch you more?”

She has no idea what _more_ entails, but she wants it, she realizes. She wants everything he is offering. She just wants to feel _more_ of this lovely wickedness that makes her skin hum and her blood rush. She wants to feel more of _Ben_ giving it to her, because that’s what it all boils down to, doesn’t it? She wants more of _Ben._ “Yes.”

“How much?” His hands have found their way back under the bunched fabric of her skirt, his fingertips graze over her underwear until they’re curling under the band. “How much more do you want me to touch you?”

“I don’t know,” she tells him honestly. “I’ve never—”

He turns down his face to watch as he plucks the band of her underwear away from her skin only to let it snap back in place. “I can’t believe no one’s ever—can’t believe I’m the _only_ one who’s—” He looks up to find her eyes. “Can I take these off?”

It’s embarrassing, the thought of him seeing her in a way no one ever has—but there’s that same new thrill there as well, because she’s thought about it, if she’s being honest. She’s thought about things with Ben that she’s _never_ thought about before. “Okay.”

He needs no further permission it seems, since he immediately begins to tug them down her thighs, and she fixes her gaze somewhere over his shoulder as he stares down between her legs, her face heated.

“You’re pretty here,” he tells her roughly, followed by the shock of his thick fingers sliding through the wet crease of her. “Have you ever put something inside?”

She bites at her bottom lip, having no choice but to look at him now, and his gaze is so _heavy_ and _hungry_ that it nearly steals her breath. She shakes her head in answer, and Ben blows out a ragged breath as he returns his attention back between her legs. 

“This will be tight,” he says breathlessly. “And we don’t have a lot of time.”

It occurs to her then that her grandmother and the other ladies could finish at any time, that they could come _looking_ for her. It only makes her heart beat faster, her breath come shorter. “Don’t have time for what?”

“Need to touch,” he tells her roughly. “If you’re going to take me. Need to make you ready.”

 _Take him?_ She shivers all over at the thought. Does she really want this to go that far? His fingertip presses gently at her entrance, her mouth parting in a little gasp of surprise, and she closes her eyes because it’s foreign and odd but it’s somehow _wonderful_ as well. 

“You’ve come before, right?” He eases just the tip of his finger inside, shallowly pressing in and out. “You know what it feels like?”

She nods shakily. “I’ve… done it to myself.”

“ _Fuck,_ I’d love to see you touch yourself. Do you play with yourself in your bedroom? While Maz is asleep?”

She feels heat flushing down her neck to spread across her chest. “ _Ben.”_

“Don’t worry,” he laughs hoarsely. “I won’t tell.” He’s trying to push a little deeper, but it’s tight, _so tight._ She has to grit her teeth as he gives her quiet encouragement. “Easy now,” he breathes. “You can take it. Just relax.” He’s inside her to the knuckle, and when he pulls it out, she makes a breathless sound because _oh_ , it feels good. “You’re so _tight,”_ he says through gritted teeth. “Like a _dream._ ”

His finger begins a slow rhythm of _in_ and _out_ and _in_ and _out,_ and she feels the way she loosens with his efforts. Feels the way every slide of his finger comes a little easier.

Her hands find his shoulders, gripping there if only to ground herself. “Ben, that feels—”

“Feels good?” He curls his finger until she gasps with it, her fingernails biting into his shoulder. “Can you take one more?”

She doesn’t know, how could she? But she finds herself nodding anyway. 

It’s still just as tight, _tighter_ , even, but she feels so _full_ when he adds another finger, and even if she’s gritting her teeth with the stretch of it, she doesn’t protest because:

“You. Are. So. _Wet._ ” Every word out of his mouth comes out strained and clipped, like it takes _actual_ effort. “Tell me I can fuck you here. Would you like that? Would you like me to show you what it feels like?”

Her thoughts are all over the place, her body alight with new sensation, and her mind fuzzy with what they do to her, what _Ben_ does to her. It isn’t what she imagined for her first time; there’s no possible way she could have _ever_ imagined _any_ of this for her first time—but she thinks for a little while now, she did imagine what it might be like with him, with _Ben._

“Will it hurt?”

His hand stills with his fingers still deep inside her, and her lashes flutter open to find a strange look on his face, one that is almost soft, one that makes her stomach flutter with something that has nothing to do with what he’s doing to her. 

“A little, probably,” he tells her softly, quietly. “But I can make it good. I _promise_ ,” he urges, as if it’s _important_. “I can make you feel good.”

Her eyes drift down to the front of his slacks that are tented now, and she chews on the inside of her lip. “Can I see?”

“You want to see me?”

“I want—” She blows out a slow breath. “I want to touch you too.”

He slides his fingers out of her only to pump them back inside. “Then touch me.”

Her fingers shake as she reaches for the button of his slack, still a little distracted by the way his fingers slide inside her easier now, by the way she’s becoming adjusted to the stretch. The sound of his zipper sounds deafening in the space, and she reaches inside with trembling hands as she curls her fingers under the band of his underwear. 

He releases an unsteady exhale as she pulls it away, and she isn’t quite prepared for the _massive_ surprise that is his cock as it springs free. It’s long and thick and an angry red as it juts out between them—and for a moment Rey thinks there’s no way this will work. She thinks there is _no way_ that he will fit inside her. 

He kisses her jaw softly as he twists his fingers slightly inside her, tilting his hips until the head of his cock bumps against her hand that hovers between them. “You can take it,” he murmurs. “Trust me.”

It’s strange to her that she does. Trust him, that is.

But still, he is _so big._

Her fingers come around him tentatively, unsure of what to do, but the feel of him, hot and heavy and _so hard_ in her hand—she finds it is definitely not unpleasant. The looser skin of his shaft is soft and warm as she fists him, and the way it moves under her fingers when he thrusts into her hand… It makes Rey shiver with something new and forbidden. Something as _wonderful_ as it is wicked. 

The head of him slides through her fist only to poke back out, and there’s a stickiness there that makes all of this more real. “It’s wet,” she says dazedly. “You’re wet.”

“That’s because of you,” he growls against her throat as his lips suction there lightly. “It’s because I’m thinking about getting inside you.”

“Did you think about that?” She’s still holding him loosely when he curls his fingers again to press against something inside that makes some strange pressure build. “Before this?”

He draws back, eyes dark and hooded as he looks at her. “Did you?”

She bites at her lip, holding it between her teeth as she wonders if she should admit it. If he will think this is all she wants if she does. “Yes,” she answers quietly, knowing deep down that it’s true. “I did.”

“So did I,” he says roughly. He looks down between them, and Rey can’t help but let her gaze follow, watching as his fingers push deep, as he _fills_ her—and then after, when he pulls them from her completely, wrapping them around his cock to wet himself with _her_ —Rey is hardly able to process it. She’s never seen anything _like_ it. “I think you could take me now,” he murmurs, pressing his fingertips to her entrance only to run them up the length of her slit instead. “It’s not as tight now.” 

She watches with wide eyes as he leans in a little, letting the head of his cock rub against her clit as her body shivers with it. “Are you sure? You’re so…”

“Say it,” he urges through gritted teeth. “Wanna hear it.”

“ _Big,”_ she whispers. 

His shoulders tremble, with pleasure, Rey thinks, and he’s still rubbing the head of his cock against her clit as her body does something similar.

So it’s a surprise, when he goes still, when he draws away suddenly to rob her of the warmth of it. “Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“Condom,” he says bitterly. “I wasn’t even— _fuck._ I don’t have one.” He’s breathing hard through his nostrils with genuine anger, his fingers returning to touch her as he shakes his head. “I can still get you off. I can still—”

“I’m on birth control,” she says suddenly.

Ben’s gaze snaps up to her face. “What?”

“I’m…” She feels heat flood her cheeks. “For my periods. I have been since I was sixteen.”

His jaw works subtly. “Really.” 

“Yes.”

“I’ve never fucked anyone without a condom.”

She laughs nervously. “Neither have I, obviously.”

“I don’t know…”

Something inside her panics, because _no no no—_ something tells her that if they stop now, that will be it, That’s all it will ever come to. “Don’t stop.” She grabs his shirt. “Please.”

There is a long moment where he is still, where she’s afraid he’ll stop this, but then: “Your period, huh.” He shifts his hips until his cock is back, sliding through her folds lazily. “Is that all it is?”

“I…” It’s hard to think with the way he’s rubbing her like that. “Yes?”

“So you’ve never thought about having a cock inside you. Feeling it wrapped up in your tight little cunt.”

She thinks the way he’s talking to her should offend her, she really does, but it only makes her more breathless. Only makes her want _more._ “No. I haven’t.”

He grips his cock at the base, dragging it down until the head presses against her entrance. “You haven’t?” He pushes forward lightly, so light that there is only a slight pressure against the slick little hole. “You haven’t thought about being fucked like this?” He tilts his hips, and it’s a stretch, _even this_ is a stretch. “Not even a little bit?”

“I— _oh God.”_

He’s somewhat inside her now, and it’s so much, it’s so much _more_ than just his fingers. “ _Shh,”_ he soothes, brushing back her hair. “Relax. You have to relax.”

She nods breathlessly as she tries to obey, closing her eyes. “I’m trying.”

“You’re doing good,” he tells her, pushing forward another inch. “You feel _amazing.”_

She lets his praise warm her, her hands steadying against his shoulders as she tries to hang on. “Keep going.”

“It will probably hurt a little,” he reminds her through gritted teeth. “I don’t know how much. I’ve never—” He releases a shuddered breath. “Never been anyone’s first.”

“I can do it,” she says determinedly. “I _can.”_

His hands find her hips to hold her steady. “I’m gonna get it over with,” he tells her. “Like a bandaid.”

She’s nodding, thinking this makes sense and steeling herself. “Do it. Just do it.”

His lips are light against hers, his hands tight at her hips, and there’s a barely-there breath before a surge and she can’t help it, the way she cries out a little.

His hand reaches quickly to cover her mouth, her heart pounding and her insides stinging, but underneath it all there’s a _fullness_ that is odd but not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all. 

“Shh, _shh.”_ His fingers rub little circles into her thighs. “Give it a minute. It’s okay.”

She can feel the way he throbs inside her, or maybe that’s just her—but she focuses on breathing in and out as she waits for the stinging to subside. She doesn’t know how much time passes before she’s nodding against his hand, exhaling heavily as he pulls it away.

“I’m okay,” she tells him.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now.”

“I’m not going to move yet,” he promises. “Gonna make you come first.”

“W-what?”

“Relax,” he half-whispers, kissing her jaw. “I’ve got you.”

She feels the press of his fingers at her clit, rubbing a steady circle there, and it’s almost embarrassing, the way he touches her while so deep inside her. He keeps perfectly still as his fingers slide against her clit, and Rey’s fingers grip at the fabric at his shoulders as her mouth parts with the pleasure it brings. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he grates, fingers shaking where they’re circling her clit. “When I touch you like this…” He rolls the pads of his fingers against the sensitive nub with emphasis. “You get so _tight_ inside.”

“That feels—I’m going to—”

“Want you to come like this,” he says hoarsely. “Want to feel you come while stuffed full of me.” He picks up the pace, her breath leaving her in sharp little pants that signal something is building. “Then I’m going to fuck you. _God._ I sort of _want_ you to be sore. I want you to remember this.”

She thinks there’s no way she’ll ever _forget_ this—but she can’t seem to form the words with the way the pressure is building deep inside. 

“I can”—he hisses out a breath—“feel it. How close you are. You keep”—he’s circling her clit faster, almost _messily_ —“fucking _clenching”_ —she’s gasping for breath, and it’s there, it’s _right there_ —“around me.”

“Ben. _Ben.”_

“That’s it. Come on. You’re so wet. You’re getting so _wet.”_

“ _Ben.”_

She’s never felt anything like it, the way she shakes around him, the way her insides fist his cock that is still _so deep_ —but Ben hardly even gives her a moment to come down from it, because then he starts to _move._

It’s a wet mess between her legs, and she can _hear_ it—the slick squelch of his cock sliding in and out of her. He kisses her roughly as he thrusts inside, the friction of it forcing her to remain suspended in a state of little aftershocks that won’t let her come down. She gasps for breath, and she’s kissing him back—at his mouth and his jaw and everywhere else she can reach—the sting almost nonexistent now and her body open and pliant and _needy_ for the way he’s moving inside her.

“You must have thought about this,” he huffs, reaching to pull her thighs further apart. “Taking those pills of yours.” His lips slide across her throat, his teeth grazing there after. “Did you think about what it would feel like? When I come inside you? You’re already such a mess down here.” He stirs his hips as if to emphasize the wet mess between her legs. “I’m going to mess you up even _more._ ”

She’s so sensitive, like a live wire, and already she feels herself suspended on the edge of another orgasm—feels it so close she can almost _taste_ it—and she wonders if Ben is just as close. She _does_ wonder what it will feel like when he comes inside her.

“Wanna see it,” he half-slurs. “Can I see?”

She isn’t even sure what he means, but it doesn’t matter she thinks; she thinks she’d let him do anything he wanted at this moment, and she’s nodding without even really knowing what it is that he wants from her.

She makes a whimpered sound of surprise when he suddenly pulls almost completely out of her, drawing back to leave only the head of his cock inside as one large hand wraps around the rest of him. Her brain can’t seem to make sense of what he’s doing, watching as he starts to stroke himself roughly, one hand on his cock while the other slides over her belly to let his thumb roll against her clit all over again. 

Her breath catches and her body arches, but Ben just keeps sliding his fist up and down his cock, leaning in to kiss her roughly as he teases her clit. He’s making low sounds in his throat, and his hips move minutely with every stroke of his fist, and she can feel herself right there with him. Feel it _right there._

“Fuck. _Fuck.”_

It’s odd, feeling her insides quivering again almost around nothing this time. There’s an emptiness that isn’t _quite_ as satisfying—but there’s also a wet warmth because she can _feel_ the way the head of his cock pulses inside. Can hear his breath catch and see his body shake as he comes and _comes_ just inside. 

His lips mouth lazily at her jawline, his cock twitching until it is still. He shifts his hips for one slow push, sliding deep if only to feel what he’s done to her. His breath is ragged when he pulls out, and they both turn down their faces, Rey’s eyes wide with shock as she watches the slow dribble of him leaking out of her.

Ben makes a sound that makes her toes curl, one of torment and pleasure, and she _knows_ what they’ve done is so wrong but the way he’s looking at her now feels _so right._

She’s making a mess of the countertop, but Ben doesn’t seem to care as he drags his fingers through it, swirling them in a slow circle through the most sensitive part of her. 

It’s only when he’s grabbing for her underwear—using the white cotton to clean the mess he’s made—that the _gravity_ of what they’ve done really settles over her.

Her eyes dart around the room with rising panic, realizing that she’s just let him take her virginity _here._ Realizing that _anyone_ could have walked in during. Wondering how on earth she could have been so _reckless_. 

What if Maz were to find out?

Oh God. The sheer _mortification_ of _anyone_ from church catching them makes her cheeks burn. She’d never be able to come back, if they knew she’d had sex with a boy in the _church nursery._

Ben doesn’t seem to share her panic, pulling her down from the countertop and kissing her slowly, admittedly calming her a little. “I’ll hold onto these,” he tells her, her underwear in his fist. “Souvenir.”

Oh _God._ The panic is back, thinking of her underwear in his room like some sort of trophy. 

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

She feels the way he goes still, the way his lazy grin falls as he pulls back to look at her better. “Tell anyone?”

Surely he must know that she wouldn’t want anyone to know she did _this_ at church. “I don’t want anyone to find out we did this, obviously.” She isn’t sure why his features harden then, isn’t sure what she’s said wrong. _Surely_ he must know how much trouble they’d get in. “I just don’t want anyone to—”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he says tightly, his expression hard. “Trust me.”

Rey breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God, I wouldn’t want—”

“Yeah,” he grinds out. “It’s probably for the best. You’re not exactly the type of girl I go for anyway.” 

She reels back as if he’s slapped her, feeling a little stunned. _Not the type of girl he goes for?_ It takes her a second to put it together, that he’s not worried that people will know he did this _here,_ but that he’s worried people will know he did this with _her._

“Oh.” She looks down at the floor, the warmth in her belly turning cold. “Right.”

Suddenly Rey feels like the silly virgin she is, or _was,_ up until a few minutes ago. 

“You’d better go,” he says evenly, with none of the playful warmth of before. “They’ll wonder where you went.”

“Sure,” she whispers, wondering how she’d read this so wrong. She feels so _naive._

“Don’t worry,” he says a little more softly. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

It doesn’t fill her with relief now, not when she knows that he’s more worried about how they _don’t fit._ But she nods all the same, an emptiness in her chest and between her legs and a soreness at both places too that have everything and nothing to do with each other. 

She gives him one last look as she turns to leave, trying to read his expression but finding nothing but stony indifference—realizing that Ben never wanted her in the way she had begun to want him. Realizing that he hadn’t been watching her, not in the same way. Realizing that she just offered up a large piece of herself to someone who didn’t actually want it.

The worst of it is… even now, even in her naivety… she doesn’t really want it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miscommunication right from the start. These poor dumb babies. 🤧


	7. good god, let me give you my life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they deserve thisssss  
>   
> This amazing gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

The old panelled walls look the same even after all these years, but it feels different now. 

When his fingers brush along the little grooves in the wood, he doesn’t feel like he’s escaping. Now it feels like he’s going  _ toward _ something.

And he is, he thinks. His life moves only in forward now.

He never really expected to come back here. 

It’s not that he has any sort of grudge against the little red-brick building. In fact, some of his very best memories are here. 

But so are some of his very worst. 

When his father passed away, people said it was from a broken heart. 

Ben thinks that’s bullshit, and more likely to do with the copious amounts of vodka he was indulging in when no one was looking—but it’s something that is better off dying with him. Rey is the only person he’s ever admitted this to, and he thinks it’ll stay that way. He thought Han Solo would always be a ghost, would always haunt him—but Ben realizes now he was just a man. Just a man who never really figured things out. He thinks people can’t be ghosts unless you let them be.

Everyone else is still milling out in the fellowship hall, but when Rey had disappeared, Ben knew exactly where he could find her. He doesn’t find it very hard to read her, not anymore, at least. 

His steps feel too loud across the worn carpet in the old hall, a little heavier than he was at eighteen, a little taller. His black oxfords Rey picked out for him are tight around his feet, and he’d have rather worn Converse, if he’s being honest—but as always, there isn’t anything she asks that Ben doesn’t do. 

He treks down the forgotten hallway that means nothing to no one, no one except two lonely people who aren’t so lonely anymore. 

He finds her just where he expected to, and for a moment he lingers in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watches her rocking in the old chair. She smiles at him, something that’s become their norm over the years, and yet he never seems to get used to what it does to him inside. 

“You’re going to get your dress dirty,” he murmurs.

Her lips only curl further. “It’s already served its purpose.”

“Not all of them,” he murmurs, already thinking about taking it off her.

There’s a playful glint in her eye that lets him know she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and she lets her eyes move across the space of the old nursery. “Thankfully, we have our own bed now.”

“It does have merit,” Ben agrees, happy to confirm this every single night. 

He steps further into the room then, soft music bleeding through the decrepit PA system from the fellowship hall where he imagines people are still enjoying themselves. Ben holds out a hand in offering, and Rey looks at it for only a moment before sliding her much smaller one into it. 

When he brushes his thumb across the back, he likes the way it catches on the stone at her ring finger. It’s calming in a way he hadn’t anticipated, a reminder that she’s still with him. That she always will be. He pulls her to her feet and against his front, wrapping his other hand around her waist as she leans in to press her cheek to his shoulder. 

“I’m going to get makeup on your suit,” she laughs softly.

Ben just keeps swaying. “It’s already served its purpose.”

“Not all of them.”

He can’t see her face now, but he can hear her smile. He turns his face to kiss her hair, closing his eyes as the music keeps on playing. “How much longer till we can get out of here?”

“Do you think people would notice if we left?”

“Are you really asking as if I care?”

She huffs out a laugh as she shakes her head, pulling back to look at him. She’s still so beautiful, so  _ good _ —eight years hasn’t changed that. Ben doesn’t think a hundred could. 

“I wanted to say thank you,” she says quietly. 

“For?”

She shrugs a little. “For agreeing to this. Doing this here. I know you didn’t want to come back… but it would have been important to Maz.”

“I wish she were still around to have made it,” Ben murmurs.

Rey nods thoughtfully. “Me too.”

“And you don’t have to thank me,” he clarifies. “It makes you happy, so it was the only choice.”

Her smile is brilliant,  _ transcendent _ —Ben doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

“It was a little weird,” she adds. “Someone else officiating.”

Ben purses his lips. “As if my dad would have even wanted to.”

“I don’t know.” Rey reaches to brush the hair away from his forehead, smiling softly. “I think Han would be proud of you.”

There’s a tight emotion in his chest. “Really.”

“I know I am,” she tells him softly.

His lips curl into a quiet smile. “That’s enough for me.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Me too.”

The music morphs into another song, and Ben threads his fingers through hers, bringing her knuckles to his mouth to press a soft kiss there. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Well, if you insist, Mr. Solo.”

Ben’s smile is wide and easy. “I do, Mrs. Solo.”

She presses up on her toes, her mouth brushing against his carefully, her lashes fluttering closed as she lingers for a moment. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Me too.”

His fingers stay tightly wound between hers, her tiny frame falling into step beside him as he leads her out of their past and into their future. He holds her hand in the old hallway, just like she always wanted, knowing that everything  _ he’s _ ever wanted lives between the spaces in her fingers. 

He doesn’t let go.

He knows he never will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these soft babies got me in my feels all unexpected like. I can't believe what should have been an ambiguous one shot wound up all the way here. I loved these two. ❤️ thank you so much to everyone who followed along!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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